The Mafia's Wife
by vincit qui patitur
Summary: Annabeth Chase, a cold woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. It's hate at first sight, though the sparks that fly are unavoidable. When danger races by, lust just might turn into love.
1. A Boyfriend With An Adamant Libido

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **A BOYFRIEND WITH AN ADAMANT LIBIDO  
[ edited ]  
[ 4.19.17 ]  
[ 2,862 words ]**

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 **ANNABETH CHASE DID NOT** want to be the wife of a skilled Mafia assassin, however many luxuries the life brought along with it. Nope, nada, _non_. She was perfectly fine with the prim, orderly way her life was moving, and she didn't need the action-packed adventure that being the Mafia's wife would bring along with it.

And besides, she didn't like the sound of it either. _The Mafia assassin's wife?_ That really just made it sound like she was a servant, or a slave, of the assassin, and the sexist quality of that opinion did not suit her well.

And she had a steady boyfriend as well - Luke Castellan was just the jock for her, and she was perfectly content with how things were going on between them.

Well, there was a bit of a lack of a connection in their relationship, since it was all touch and go, but Annabeth was fine with that. Just fine. She wasn't worried about him at all, nor about their relationship.

Luke Castellan wouldn't betray her for the World - would he? Sure, their relationship was purely based on physical touch, well, just recently, it had been mainly based on touch. Sex with him suited her just fine; sleeping with him wasn't something new to her. But there was no communication in their relationship anymore, and that, Annabeth had to admit, scared her the tiniest of bits. Three months ago, it had all been sweet kisses and flowers, and even boxes of candy. He had showered her with affection, and she could see it glimmering in his eyes every time he looked at her.

Now, not so much. It was all lust. Either he had recently attained an adamant libido, (which Annabeth didn't mind, it was just that he was going at it more than usual), or there was something else going on, something he hadn't mentioned to Annabeth.

Annabeth had a bad feeling that it was the second one, but she pushed away that feeling, and told herself that Luke had decided to focus on her body, and his body, and _their_ bodies. But if she were to be honest, when they went at it, it didn't feel like he was making love to her. It felt like he was using her as a toy, a sexual trinket to release all that pent up stress and anxiousness, and he was channeling all that stress into his, erm, manly parts, and using her as the release of it.

Annabeth preferred not to think of it that way. She endorsed the idea that he had started to obsess over her body, even though that fact that if that _were_ true, he might have started to obsess a little _too_ much entered her mind. She ignored that little voice.

But Luke - no, it wouldn't do any good to think about to Luke. A new man might possibly be entering her carefully arranged life, a man who would bring the most luxurious of riches, and the most dangerous of adventures. A man whom she had no choice but to marry.

When her parents had told her, she hadn't put up a fight. Since the beginning of her teenage years, she had never been a rebellious figure, unlike almost every other teenager in her whole school. No partying? Okay, mother. No drinking? Okay, mother. No boys until she was old enough? Okay, father. No sex until her wedding night? Of course, father.

She only first started to break them when she met Luke, but that was fair, because he was the first boy in her life, and she met him precisely when she was seventeen years, half a month, and seven days. Their first night together was when she was exactly seventeen years, eleven months, and nineteen days. Yeah, she kept track. She was a perfectionist, and that was a quality in her that she was very much proud of.

A perfectionist, who, apparently, had a knack for writing the precise dates of everything down, which she thought made her life a whole lot more orderly. And that knack for writing everything down was exactly how she knew exactly how old she was and exactly what day she met Luke, exactly what day, time, and what precise age she was when she had first started dating him, and when she slept with him. She was _quite_ the perfectionist, she had to admit, but she didn't mind. She liked it that way. She liked that thing about herself. Why, she couldn't exactly explain but-

Oh, goddammit, she shouldn't be thinking about how she approved of herself being a perfectionist. She was supposed to be pondering over whether she wanted to or didn't want to marry the so called glorious assassin what's-his-face. Yeah, about that. She really didn't give a damn about him. She had heard from some other girls in school when she was still back there, girls who liked to squeal over men who they couldn't possibly have a chance with because they didn't even know them, that said assassin was in his early twenties, quite single, and very much a looker.

Those weren't quite the words that they had used, but Annabeth preferred not thinking about the words they had used. She might have to erase her memory to get rid of the vulgarity of their words.

But the point was that he was decent looking, according to what Annabeth had heard. But she didn't want just a hot husband. She wanted someone whom she could just plainly settle down with, and do her business proceedings with, without having to suspect him. That was the kind of person she wanted to be married to. But judging from the way this man was described, he most probably took advantage of his good looks. He didn't want to settle down, he wanted to _fuck_ around.

Annabeth knew for sure, and her laptop had all the evidence she needed. Thousands of suggestions came up with she searched up his name: _'Perseus Orion Jackson'_.

 _Percy Jackson & McKenzie Normest: Scandal Or No Scandal?_

So, the shortened version of his name was Percy? Interesting.

 _Percy Jackson Going Behind Ayonne Charfel's Back? Percy Jackson Is Officially Dating His Ex-Girlfriend's Best Friend: True Or Not True? Percy Jackson Engaged? Percy Jackson Gay? Percy Jackson Accused Of Murder? Percy Jackson Cleared Of Charges._

All that Percy Jackson _this_ , and Percy Jackson _that_ , made Annabeth's mind whirl. He had had quite a few affairs, which proved him to be what Annabeth thought him to be: a whore, a playboy, hell, maybe even a fuckboy. If that was how he was before, and how he still was now, how would he be when he was married to Annabeth? Would he go behind her back?

But revolting scandals aside, one very recent title caught Annabeth's eye: _"Percy Jackson A New York Mafia Mobster?"_

Annabeth sat back, and let the laptop drop from her lap down to her bed, where it bounced, and fell with it's screen resting on the bed's surface and the keyboard in the air. She stared at it. _"Percy Jackson A New York Mafia Mobster?"_ _"Percy Jackson A New York Mafia Mobster?"_ _"Percy Jackson A New York Mafia Mobster?"_

What the hell did that mean? Wasn't it a known fact that he was a member of the Los Angelos and New York Mafia? Wasn't this old news? Very old news? Didn't the world already know? How was this fucking recent? This wasn't frigging possible.

Annabeth racked her brain, and when it settled on something, she almost cursed herself silly. _Of course_ it wasn't a public fact. Why had she assumed that the rest of the World knew that he was a gang member, just because she knew? If they knew, he'd be a wanted criminal. They'd have caught him, convicted him of all the murders he had committed - and he had committed murders, many of them, way too many to count - and he wouldn't be this famous. He wouldn't be all over the tabloids in the fashion they portrayed him now.

He would be a badass, he would be wanted, he would be a criminal. But in the tabloids and magazines, they portrayed him as some kind of celebrity. Why was that?

Upon searching a little bit deeper into the internet, Annabeth found her answer: Percy Jackson was the heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, as well as the son of the owner, Poseidon Olympus. He was the heir, and he would be taking the business from his father.

Suddenly, some of the missing puzzle pieces of the puzzle fit. A part of this arrangement was beneficial to both sides: the company investment. Annabeth's dad owned a company, along with her step-mother, a company that had been passed on from her biological mother. The Athenian Owls Industries. Owner was unidentified, meaning that Annabeth didn't know who it was, though some others, including her father, would probably know. Of course he'd know the name of the woman he'd screwed around with and had a kid with. He just wouldn't tell Annabeth her name, which infuriated Annabeth, but she'd never admit to it. Why should she?

But this Percy guy - did he agree to this arrangement as well?

She couldn't see someone like him giving into marrying - hell, dating was one thing, but _marrying_? - when he could have so many others. If he weren't married to her, he could bring any woman, and any number of woman into his bed. He probably would too when he was married to her. As far as she knew, she had no choice, and neither did he.

Annabeth wondered; what kind of person was he? Was he that scandalous, egotistical man the world perceived him to be? Or was there more to his story? Why had he decided to become a part of the Mafia? What had impacted his life so hard, that he had to resort to killing people? What had happened to him?

Annabeth had many questions, and she was frustrated to find that none of them could be answered.

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"Helen?" Annabeth started out stiffly, her eyes concentrated on her stepmother's navy blue blazer. Helen's chocolate brown hair was curled up into a tight bun, and when she turned around, the streaks of the red highlights she had put in could be seen. Her light blue eyes surveyed Annabeth critically and impassively, and Annabeth stood to attention, meeting her gaze.

"Yes, Annabeth?" Her voice was cool and careless, and for a moment, Annabeth forgot what she had wanted to say. It was ironic, really. She herself was the one who usually gazed at people so emotionlessly that it made them uncomfortable, but here she was, made uncomfortable by her stepmother, no less. Not even her biological mother.

"I wanted some details regarding my engagement with Poseidon's son."Apparently losing interest in the conversation with those words being said, her stepmother turned back around, and busied herself with looking through her suitcase.

"What would you like to know?" Her stepmother's voice was all business, and Annabeth resisted the urge to cringe. Was this how she herself sounded like, when talking business?

"When will we be married? And do I still have no say in this?" Multiple questions ran through Annabeth's head, but she chose only two of them, and carefully so. Her composure had to be kept at both work and at home, and losing her cool by asking a steady stream of questions wouldn't elevate her stepmother's and her father's thoughts of her.

The first wave of faint suspicion hit her when her stepmother stiffened momentarily.

"By tomorrow or the day after - it hasn't been made final yet - you and your father will meet up with your fiance and his father, and there, he will propose to you, first in private so you will both have an idea of what to expect when he does, and in public, so the public can acknowledge it. Merely - " Here, her stepmother's emotionless voice was smothered with pity, and Annabeth stared into her eyes, her expression stone cold, not knowing what to think. Maybe she had imagined it? Either way, she did not like that pity one bit.

" - a week later, you two will be wed. The place has not been finalized, but I assure you, we will look for the most fanciest place we can find, no matter what the cost. Then - " She didn't want the most fanciest of places. What did they think she wanted? She - she - she was getting married in one _fucking_ week! Today was Tuesday, meaning either tomorrow, or the day after, she would meet the whore who was to be her husband. A week from that - either next Wednesday, or Thursday, would be her wedding. Did they not think the public would get suspicious at their hastiness to send their daughter off to get married so quick? And with no warning either? And what about her? _What about her?_

" - then, oh _wait_. Of course, you and your future husband to be will be meeting up an infinite number of times to discuss everything; arrange everything. You will choose the dress, the wedding, the flowers, and etc. You will be wed next week, as I have mentioned, and after that, you two will both be required to go on a honeymoon for quite a while. Longer than most couples, really. You will also be required to have some form of sexual interaction, because we will be expecting a child from the two of you, to fully fulfill our agreement with the groom's family. Whether it is mandatory or not is to be questioned. I hope you are aware - " She continued, and Annabeth was lost in a haze of confusion. A child? _A child?_ Sexual interaction? She was to sleep with this whore?

" - that the child has to be with _his_ sperm and _your_ egg, nobody else's. We will be checking to see as soon as we can to make sure it is specifically you and your husband's child, and no one else's, if you two do end up having a child. Note that there will be consequences if it is another's child, and I imagine, that if you two start off to a rocky start, you will both have to face much more if you don't agree to this willingly, and don't play by our rules. And you especially, Annabeth - you will have to break it off with Luke Castellan sometime before the wedding." Her stepmother paused.

She angled herself so half of her was facing Annabeth directly, and the other half was facing her suitcase.

"I wish you the best of luck, Annabeth." She turned around completely now, the suitcase taking up all of her attention, and stood with her back facing Annabeth, who suddenly had the urge to scream and thrash and put up one hell of a tantrum.

But she couldn't, because, after all, she was the CEO's daughter, who worked in the same building as her father. She was famous; she was a celebrity. She was known. Articles, thousands of thousands of articles, had her name printed neatly anywhere that concerned her.

And soon, millions of articles would have her name printed even more neatly, in shockingly big, black letters; printed right next to the famous man that she had no choice but to marry: Perseus Orion Jackson.

The man whom she had labeled as a whore, and her rage was such, that it didn't occur to her that she was being extremely judgemental. The man who she would have to share a bed with, a responsibility with, and a life with. The man who might father her child. The man who could never be what she had always wanted.


	2. You're Marrying A Blonde, Son

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **YOU'RE MARRYING A BLONDE, SON  
[ edited ]  
[ 4.23.17 ]  
[ 3,507 words ] **

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**"YOU'RE GOING TO BE MARRIED."** Poseidon Olympus drawled in a bored fashion, though it sounded terribly cracked, and there was some inexplicable emotion lingering somewhere in there, though it seemed slightly fake. Sad to say, Percy didn't care enough to catch on to it, but he snorted.

"Is she sexy?" He pressed his palm against the holster of his gun casually, without having any reason or mind to do so. His mind was far off, staring out the window, thinking about how absolutely _blue_ food coloring was made, and if it had anything to do with the color of the sky. They both looked awfully familiar, didn't they? That must be where blue food coloring came from. A gift from the heavens, that's what it was, and the sky was probably somewhere near the heavens. Well, closer to it than he was, at least.

His father snorted, echoing his son's piggish noise, but there was a thoughtful tint to his face, making a queer contrast with his choice of noise. He tilted his head back, and leaned away from the large screen of his desktop computer to look at his son's expression.

Percy had his poker face on. One hand was subconsciously bouncing an apple on his knee, which was folded backward, laying heavily against the wall, and his other hand was at the holster of his gun. Under normal circumstances, Poseidon would have found it his son's pose to be quite threatening, but the distant look in his son's eyes took out the threat in his stance.

He looked like a rebel. He looked like a gangster. He looked exactly like how he was supposed to look, in secret of course.

"I suppose. If you prefer blondes." He folded his hands behind his head, leaning back casually, watching to see if his son would let go of his detached expression when he realized that his father wasn't joking around in the _least_ , and maybe let some form of human emotion overtake it. It had been so long since he had seen him look happy, or sad, or even angry. Always stoic. Never anything else.

"Hmm. I can never decide. Is she any good in bed?" Poseidon sighed heavily, both at the carelessness in his son's voice, and the turn his thoughts had taken.

"I don't know, son. I don't sleep with young women anymore. My womanizing days are almost over, unfortunately." He looked up at the wall wearily, grimacing, pressing back another sigh, but it was cut short when he heard Percy's sharp intake of breath.

He then proceeded to realize what he had just said.

"I see."

His face turned icy. Not just detached anymore, but cold. _Damn_. Poseidon sighed to himself internally, before realizing that he was being melodramatic and rightfully so. Of course, Percy was allowed. He had a perfectly reasonable reason for going stone cold at the inconsiderate words he had just uttered, but sad to say, Poseidon realized that he did not care. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, and his son could have no say.

It wasn't Percy's business if he was screwing with another woman - it was his business, and maybe, a tiny bit of Percy's mother's business. But that had been a fling. A meaningless fling. Sally should have realized that long ago.

Poseidon snapped to attention, fixing a regal, business-like look on his face, and cleared his throat.

"You _are_ getting married, son." He did know what he was saying of course, but he wanted to see Percy's reaction. Not just to the statement, but the phrase of endearment. And a tiny slice of him wanted his son to react positively, despite his own misdoings.

Misdoings that, being human, and unable to resist many of his instincts, had been done. The past was the past, and nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , could be done, despite his son's pathetic wishes and hopes of having a happy family. Yes, he was aware of those, even though his son wouldn't dare say a word about them. No, he didn't care. He himself had his own fantasies (which were mostly still compromised of screwing with every hot woman he set his eyes on and actually getting somewhere and accomplishing some goals with his business) and none of them included settling down with Percy, his runaway, gangster of a son, and his ex-fling, Sally Jackson, who still looked as kind and, though he would never admit, beautiful, as ever.

But that wasn't the point. All these misdoings - misdoings that he had hoped could be forgiven _weren't his fault_. But every trace of hope in his features and thoughts were wiped away when he caught sight of Percy's face, who was still staring out the window, though his face had hardened the slightest, and his eyes looked faintly alarmed. He looked like a rock. A literal rock. A rock that could, and would, never forgive his misdoings.

His fatherly instincts whispered that his son was now a murderer, and murderers could never forgive. They could kill the people they had a vendetta against, and whew, did Percy have one _hell of a vendetta_ against his father. Forgiving him was simply out of the question.

"Who _says_?"Poseison remained as stoic - almost as stoic, at least - as his son, when he realized that Percy had not commented on his phrase of endearment. He dared to hope, to believe, to hope against hope, for one, tiny, moment. A fire started in a bed of coals in his heart.

Percy looked at him sharply, though he remained impassive, after uttering those two words. He narrowed his eyes threateningly, and Poseidon had the urge to shrink back. This was his _son_. He could not afford to be empowered by his own son. Never could he afford to do so.

"I am not your son, Poseidon. I have a father. His name is Paul. Now, what the fuck are you talking about? Did I make a deal with some Las Vegas party girl when I was drunk?" The fire in Poseidon's heart, as small as it had been, extinguished as the words struck home, but of course, he had to play the part of a billionaire father who didn't give a damn. So he didn't flinch in the slightest.

"I've arranged a marriage for you.' His lips curved. "She's quite decent." Not at all decent. Or maybe she was. He wondered how Fredrick's daughter had grown up to be. Of course, if she was anything like the girl's mother, then Perseus was screwed over like he had never ever seen. Though he might have some fun screwing with her. He had seen her in the tabloids, and she was quite the stunning woman.

"I will not marry." The defiance in his voice was put quite clearly, and so was the frustration. The anger wasn't very hard to tell either.

"Yes, you will. I've made sure of that. You will be marrying a blonde, _Perseus_. Deal with it. You will be getting married in private tomorrow, Wednesday, April 25, in which it will be official. I've already signed the paper for you, son. And in exactly a week from tomorrow, exactly next Wednesday, you will have a slightly more public wedding. In a few months, you will have another wedding, completely open to the public. But the last two weddings don't matter, do you understand? The first, private wedding with only four, confidential humans present around you, will be the one that matters. The one that _matters_." Poseidon smirked smugly when his son's brick walls collapsed.

Shock. Uncontrollable, immeasurable shock was all that had taken his son's formerly careless face, and Poseidon smiled gleefully. He had taken his son _down_. His son was broken. His son was weak. His son had just been stepped on, by the underneath of his father's shoes. His son, was now _done_.

"Do you have any questions, Perseus?" Poseidon's voice had taken a sickly tone, and he mustered up all the innocence he could, and threw it in. His son's foot collapsed from it's position against the wall, the apple was picked up firmly, and Percy's dirty fingernails dug in, making tiny crescents. He wasn't staring out the window anymore; he was staring at his father, his face pallid and sickly pale, expression strained, his jaw clenched. He had realized, after all, that his father was most certainly not joking around.

"Fuck you; I'm not marrying SOME - " His son's voice had begun to rise, and Poseidon felt a sick kind of pleasure at the panic in his son's face.

"Ah, ah. You will do as I say, son. Because..." He didn't elaborate further. Perseus already knew. He had always known. The unspoken threat hung in the air, like the unpleasant smell of the stinking corpse of a dead bird that no one had noticed just yet.

"Yes, father." Perseus lowered his head, his face shadowed, his mental bricks falling into place once again.

"Splendid." And Poseidon laughed a big, booming, laugh. He had broken his son's composure after all.

"Now, for the details..."Poseidon went on cheerily, pretending as if he hadn't just threatened his son's life in unspeakable words. They had only been recounted once, and Perseus most definitely did not need to be told twice. Poseidon decided that it was _one_ likable trait in his son. Submissive when threatened with a majority of unspoken things.

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 **ANNABETH GLARED AT HER REFLECTION,** internally seething. She was about to go meet the absolute whore who - oh no, sorry, it was a _that_. Whores weren't human, of course. They were merely creatures who liked to screw with every single female _(did he swing both ways?)_ that had a complexion even _slightly_ pretty. Annabeth grunted at the direction her thoughts had taken. She was being _incredibly_ biased and judgmental, but honestly, when she was in a rage, hell, _she was in a rage._ Biased opinions didn't matter to her; she just kept on going. She'd call that sickly man whatever the hell she wanted, even if it was the same word again and -

Annabeth snorted. She figured she should push those thoughts away. It wasn't her _fiance's_ fault that she was getting married. No, it was her parents and his parents and their parents, and some stupid, _sickly_ agreement they had made.

She sighed. No more irrational thoughts regarding a man she hadn't even met. No more. She'd call him every single damned curse word she could find when she had met him and her thoughts were proven correct. Her thoughts were always proven correct. Maybe she would switch to calling him something else. He had to be a horrible, terrifying person with a cold, impassive persona. He had to be. Otherwise, how could she hate him? She needed _someone_ to take the anger out on. Nothing personal, of course.

Though, if he was a _'horrible, terrifying person with a cold, impassive, persona'_ she supposed that their personalities wouldn't clash, because if she were to be honest with herself (and she was quite honest with herself; quite brutally honest) she herself was a cold, icy bitch sometimes. The key word being _sometimes_. Other times, she spouted facts quite vigorously.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, this time wiping the glare cleanly off her face. Her dull, grey eyes were accentuated with mascara, making them pop, and seem less dull than she had always found them. Her naturally high, sharp cheekbones jutted out in the slightest, and her lips were pained a shade of pink that she forced on herself, even when her stepmother preferred that she paint dark red instead, to seem alluring. She had pulled her hair into a tight bun, caring to make sure that not a single strand was out of place. She was also wearing a long-sleeved sundress that she absolutely loathed from the moment she had set eyes on it. She hadn't even _known_ there were such things as long-sleeved sundresses until her stepmother had introduced it to her a mere day ago when looking for something good enough to wear for this occasion.

The occasion being that she was going to go meet her betrothed. Dear God, she wanted to _kill_ somebody.

Subconsciously, a glare fixed itself onto Annabeth's face, and Annabeth was disturbed to see how her beautifully, perfectly impassive face had been changed with such a - such an intimidating, emotional look. Any look was an emotion, and anger fit right into the category. She fixed her face up once again. _No glaring._

But _slowly,_ slowly the glare came right back up when she stared at how the sundress fit her body, and then she couldn't _do_ it anymore. _She couldn't do it anymore._ It showed some of her slight curves, it showed some of her body, and she couldn't even deal with that, because then her fiance would see and - her thoughts weren't making sense anymore.

With an animal-like sound that she didn't know she was capable of, she tore the dress off herself, lifting it up, and threw it onto the bed. Her digital clock read six fifteen, meaning that she had five more minutes to finish her preparations. That was enough time. She threw the sundress onto her made-up bed, and in one long stride, reached her dresser. She rummaged through it, and drew out a grey turtleneck, and black tights. She slipped them on, and then went searching for heels, because her stepmother would most definitely not approve of her attire, and heels - platform heels, to be exact - were the least she could do to lessen Helen's anger.

She grabbed her purse - the wretched thing, it looked like something that would belong to a priss, with pearls that were real and strewn all over and into it - and strutted out the door without another glance around her or into her mirror.

She cautiously made her way down the stairs, where Helen had changed out of her business attire into a large tee and sweats, having come home early to overlook Annabeth's preparations to meet her 'darling fiance', and was now strewn comfortably across the second to last step of the stairs, listening to her younger son, Bobby, ramble on about what his school day was like with a small, genuine smile pasted onto her face.

Bobby Chase, now in his last year of elementary school, had his father's sandy blonde hair, and his mother's light blue eyes, that always danced with a child-like mirth. Annabeth's grimace gradually transformed into a soft smile as she looked down on the pair. Her stepmother might have been stone-cold, but the twins she had produced had so far, proven to be a light in Annabeth's life. Both Bobby and Matthew Chase were so annoyingly cute, and charming, and so, so devious, that they could easily pass as Annabeth's actual brothers. She had already started considering them as actual brothers.

They were what her real, biological brother had never been, and could never be. Annabeth quickly focused again on the couple a few feet away from her before her thoughts could take a darker turn. Subconsciously, she took a step, and the sound of her platform heels thumping on the marble stairs made Bobby look up. His innocent eyes zeroed in on Annabeth, lighting up.

"Annie! Annie! Where you going?" Even though he had almost completed elementary school, the babyish tone in his voice could still be heard. Annabeth smiled gently, though her insides starting writhing, and whether it was in nervousness or just white-hot fury was still to be understood.

She searched for something to say."Who says I'm going out, Bobby?" Finding nothing, she went for the question-for-question strategy that she always used when she didn't want to answer a question, and watched as Bobby's forehead creased.

"She's going out to meet her husband-to-be." Helen held Bobby at her side, a smile in her voice, as she appraised Annabeth with eyes that she couldn't quite comprehend. She couldn't tell whether the smile in her voice was real or not, and her eyes were no different. Helen's gaze raked her figure, but she didn't comment on Annabeth's change of clothing, to her relief.

Then, it hit Annabeth. Helen's words. _She's going out to meet her husband-to-be._ Annabeth's smooth expression disappeared, and an astonished expression replaced it, an inaudible gasp escaping her lips. Bobby looked at Annabeth with a similar face, his light blue eyes wide with shock, his mouth wide open, but slightly puckered at the edges. Why was Helen telling Bobby, of all people? Was that supposed to mean something?

"You're getting mawwied, Annie?" His shock was as plain as day as he the exclamation escaped him, and Annabeth, for whatever, crazy reason, felt like crying. She held the waterworks at bay.

She nodded stiffly at Bobby, and before she could help it, a sigh escaped her. "Yeah, sweetheart. I'm getting married." Her words felt heavy even to her, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched Helen's face morph into something akin to sympathy.

"Can I be the flowerboy?" As quick as the shock came, it went, replaced with excitement. A quiet silence settled over the staircase, and Annabeth looked away, her resolve - for what, she wasn't sure - hardening into rock.

"Annabeth is nervous about it, Bobby. You'll have to understand if the wedding is very quiet, and if there aren't alot of people there." Helen's words startled Annabeth, but not enough for her to tear her gaze away from where it had settled on the floor in front of her.

"Oh." Bobby said quietly, and Annabeth felt something like sadness settle around the three of them. It was weird, and surprising, and somehow, she found herself warming up to it, despite the melancholy that had entered her insides.

"Does he play video games? Is he nice? Will he like me?" Bobby bombarded her with questions, and Annabeth forced a smile onto her face, something she almost never did around her brothers. As much as she loved him, she really wanted him to stop.

A new voice interrupted Bobby's stream of questions, to Annabeth's utter relief. It was quickly replaced with horror when she recognized it, and she started to sweat.

"It's time to go meet your fiance, Annabeth."

* * *

 **I feel like it's more of a filler really, but I realize that Annabeth's reaction isn't nearly as bad as it should have been. She's mostly very angry about everything, and somewhat nervous about it all. She hates the man who will be dragging her into a life that she doesn't want, so do excuse her judging. She's very smart, because she's Annabeth, of course, but nothing has prompted me to mention that just yet. It's all personal thoughts now. The next chapter will be where Annabeth and Percy actually meet. I've included Poseidon's point of view (sort of) to show you what and how it was liek for Percy to be finding out, what his reaction was, and what forced (moved?) him to accept it. Poseidon's an ass, right here. threatening ass. I'd like to keep the chapter names amusing and make sure they don't unveil too much about the chapter, so it all comes as a surprise.**


	3. Olive Garden Has Leather Recliners

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

* * *

 **0 0 3**

 **OLIVE GARDEN HAS LEATHER RECLINERS  
** **[ edited ]  
** **[ 4.29.17 ]  
[ 5,027 words ]**

* * *

 **LUKE  
7:25 PM **

**Hey, Babe. Where you at? I've called you so many times**

Annabeth stared at her phone as it slid down her lap, seeing it but not _quite_ seeing it at the same time. It had just beeped with the most recent message from her soon to be ex-boyfriend, Luke Castellan, but for some reason, Annabeth felt that she didn't have it in her to reach out, pick it up, and answer. Her hands were wound tightly together, sweating profusely, and this embarrassed her more than she would've liked to admit. She couldn't understand herself at the moment: why was she so nervous? And dear lord, why was she sweating? Her usually well-manicured and slender (she'd had to have it like that; she'd bitten it way too often, but she'd stopped and actually made the effort to preserve her fingernails) hands were disgustingly _clammy,_ and she was sure the back of her turtleneck was seeped in sweat too. Her heart raced in anticipation and - and - she wasn't _used_ to feeling like this. She wasn't used to feeling like at all.

Her life was going to be officially ruined after this. _Officially_. When she was being told, she was just being _told_. You're going to _marry_ him, you're going to _sleep_ with him, you're going to go on a _honeymoon_ with him, you're going to have a _child_ with him, _blah blah blah_. But words were just words. But now, now that she was on her way to the very place where she would meet the man who would marry her in exactly a week, and ruin her life and her dreams and her aspirations whatsoever, the reality of it, the complete _reality_ of it came crashing down on her like a crapload of hella heavy bricks falling from the sky.

She wasn't sure whether she was panicking or getting nervous about meeting this man.

 _But Annabeth Chase does not get nervous,_ she told herself. Annabeth Chase was impassive. Annabeth Chase was cold. Annabeth Chase was a rock. Annabeth Chase was intimidating. No, it would not do for the world-known famous businesswoman Annabeth Chase to be getting nervous, or panicking, or whatever this sweat - whatever this icky, gooey, weird sweat told her about her emotions.

Unacceptable. She was letting her guard go down.

Her will hardened with resolve. She would not let these - these events break her. So what she was getting married? She'd meet him. She'd marry him. She'd bed him. If it was to be done, if it had to be done, she'd push a child from between her legs. And she wouldn't let it get to her. She'd stay hard and cold and business-like and - and she'd act like the ice queen herself.

Yeah. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

She loosened her tightly clenched hands, and let them drift from the other slightly. Slowly, as the moments passed, the wetness dried out, only to be replaced with her normal temperature. Perfect.

She fixed her usual mask onto her face - the mask of impassiveness. She turned to stare out the taxi window, and watched as the buildings whizzed by. A barbershop, a school, a police station, a bank, a boutique, a shop, a community mall, and countless of others. The surroundings were very much familiar to her. They - meaning herself and her dearest father, Fredrick Chase - were to meet her fiance - she still couldn't bear to think of him by his actual name, dear lord - at a restaurant she was most familiar with. Olive Garden. Of course. And they were getting quite close to the restaurant too, so no wonder her surroundings were getting easier to distinguish as the moments passed, though the heavy rain that splattered onto the taxi window made things slightly more blurry.

 **ANNABETH**  
 **7:39 PM**

 **I'm busy. Talk later.**

Her long fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard, and she contemplated over whether she should break up with him through phone or face-to-face. Luke was a good guy. A sweet guy, even. Sure, maybe he was always interested in screwing with her every single time they met, but still. He had been good to her. He deserved a face-to-face explanation at least. Besides, she didn't know how to break it to him through texting. What would she type to him?

She steadied her hands, and moved to shut her phone off, but before she could, another message pinged in. Annabeth sighed and closed her eyes, knowing fully well who it would be before looking, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Another ping resounded through the silent taxi and her father turned to look at her with questioning eyes.

 **LUKE**  
 **7:40**

 **IT'S HOT WHEN YOU'RE ALL SHORT WORDS. SUCH A TURN-0N.**

Annabeth had the sudden urge to smash her fist into Luke's face, break his gorgeous face, and order someone to castrate him to solve his little problem, or so he said. She resisted the urge, which was actually somewhat hard to do. His message didn't even make _sense_.

 **LUKE**  
 **7:40**

 **HOW'S A QUICK FUCK SOUND?** **SOUNDS LIKE HEAVEN TO ME.**

Her grey eyes flickered up to meet her father's slightly irritated eyes. She turned the sound down, to keep the noise of oncoming notification's _ping_ down. Stupid Luke.

 **LUKE**  
 **7:41**

 **BABBBBEEEE**

Her grip on her phone tightened in - what? What was it that she was feeling?

 **ANNABETH**  
 **7:41**

 **I'm out, Luke. Take care of yourself, okay? Are you drunk?**

Then she promptly shut her phone down, and held it loosely in her hands, looking ahead of her. Honestly, at the moment, she had much more pressing moments than that of Luke and his supposed horniness. And his seemingly slurred remarks.

Much more to think about indeed. Her eyes fell on her father, who was watching her with his masked business-like expression, just like he always did when he was thinking about her but wanted to cover it up. His face was cool, impassive. Icy. Just like Annabeth's always was.

Fredrick Chase was a tall man, with a slightly stocky build. His sandy blonde hair, dyed a vibrant shade of reddish-orange for whatever reason, set quite the contrast with his pale skin tone, making him seem slightly unique to some extent. But his neutral brown eyes made him look ordinary, and ordinary he was. You'd think that someone with a physical attribute so unique would be easy to read, and he really was, though he wasn't aware. Or maybe it was just Annabeth who could read his expression so clearly.

Well, usually. At the moment, she had absolutely no idea at all, so she stared back at him coolly, and arched a perfect eyebrow at him.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Father?" She wasn't sure when the spite had crept up and into her voice, filling with negative emotion, but as she heard herself speak, she realized that it was there all right.

"How do you feel about your engagement, Annabeth?" He pasted a polite smile on his face, a smile that she had been familiar with because of all those fancy dinners and parties, and hell, even balls, and Annabeth, despite controlling herself all she could to maintain her calm demeanor, felt the bile claw up her throat, and her walls crumbled down for one split second. This was the same smile he gave when he was talking just to be polite.

And so, for one split second, all she could see was red, red, and more red. Blood. She wanted blood. And as quick as the urge came, the urge went, leaving Annabeth bewildered, but she wasted no time in putting up her cold barriers up once again.

She opened her mouth to answer in positive, but hesitated. What if she answered in negative? What if - if she denied them of their wants and their agreements and whatnot? What if she said no?

Something sparked in her mind. A memory: some words, just wanting, just waiting to be drawn out into the open and to be revealed. The cold, hard, metallic feeling of a door. The shape of a doorknob being pressed against her hand. Her ear pressed against the metallic surface. Words. Familiar familiar voices. A warning.

She immediately dispelled the idea of rebellion from her mind.

"Whatever needs to be done needs to be done." She affirmed politely, not answering positively nor negatively. Then, she looked away from her father's gaze, suddenly finding interest in the heavy rain pouring outside, and the blurring, somewhat distinguishable buildings as they passed by.

But she stared at it unseeing. The only thing that rang in her head was, _I could've said no,_ despite having had removed the very thought from her mind.

What if she _had_ said no?

Her eyes went dull as the taxi approached Olive Garden, knowing what her fate was to be and that it was getting closer and closer as the moments passed and as the scenery stilled in a rain of pelting water, and her so called father's gaze burned on her, but not into her. Never into her. Never knowing what was really going on inside.

* * *

 **IT ALL PASSED BY IN SUCH A BLUR,** Annabeth barely realized it, and before long, she'd seated herself comfortably - sort of, but not really - on a surprisingly leather recliner - they had these kind of things in such an easygoing store? - her legs folded over eachother, her hands clasped loosely but properly in her lap, her phone set next to her empty dinner plate, turned off and therefore blank, and her grey eyes clear and set on the double doors that she expected to open at any moment. Her mask was back on, and ever so often, her eyes would drift to the bold watch settled on the wrist of her right hand, because staring at the double doors continuously was getting seriously annoying and boring.

Her father was seated in his own leather recliner opposite of her, his pose easygoing, and his gaze indefinitely bored. He didn't care. He didn't have to care. All he had to do was make polite conversation with his soon to be son-in-law and his son-in-law's father, watch and act as a personal attendant as her fiance fake-proposed to her, and let her do the rest of the work. Maintain the relationship between the Chase-Jackson families. Keep up a crazy-in-love facade and come up with an extremely convincing story to feed to the hungry paparazzi. Sleep with a whore. Have an asshole's child. Let the rest of her perfectly planned out life burn down to ashes, and suck it up like she was supposed to.

And - oh. The sound of steady footsteps echoing in the hallways reached Annabeth's ears, and she at once pasted her most pleasant smile, and leaned back comfortably in her chair, her eyes settling themselves coolly on the double doors once again. _Two pairs of footsteps,_ she noticed, as the noise became louder and neared closer. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Quite handsomely so as well. Two devils, actually.

The double doors burst open, and a handsome man in his mid-thirties sprinted through, his steps heavy and confident, his smile easy and wide, stretching towards the corners of his mouth, and then further. It widened, this fixed-on smile, as he took notice of the red-haired man seated opposite of Annabeth, and he walked forward just as her father came to his feet, pulling him into an embrace. Annabeth stood up as well, and pasted on her half-business-half-polite smile.

But the old man took no notice of her, and rocked back and forth on his heels, still embracing her father. As surprising as it was to see her cold-hearted father hugging the man who was soon to be her father-in-law, Annabeth ignored the urge to stare open-mouthed, and instead, assessed the newcomer critically with calculating eyes.

His side was facing her, of course, so all she got was a handful of raven-black hair, slicked back perfectly, without a single strand out of place, much like her own bun, besides the two, single, perfect strands that curled and framed her face. Yes, that had been Helen's fault. Something about adding some touch to her 'stone-ish but beautiful appearance'. The right side of his face showed slightly high cheekbones, but only slightly, of which had also been taken into her critical assessing, and the green eyes that sparkled brightly momentarily, the ones she had caught sight of the moment he had turned to embrace her father.

Annabeth had a momentary flashback to the moments after her parents had told her of this marriage, and she had been left alone to wonder why it had to be _her_ of all the eligible _,_ rich girls in the world, and if it would be an old man that would put her into a dull, lifeless, life, and would only use her for producing an heir. She remembered being completely freaked, and almost on the verge of tears, because why _her_ and what if an _old man_?

But no. Fate had not been merciful enough to give her hand to an old man in marriage, who, though he would use her, would leave her alone. No, fate had given her someone, or rather, _something_ much worse. An admittedly hot, ravenous man is his early twenties, much like Annabeth, who was gorgeous and a complete playboy. Perfect. Just perfect.

And there he was, the playboy in question, in all his splendor and glamour. She looked over his father's shoulder to get a look at him, and she was not disappointed. Even with her distance, Annabeth could see why men and women flocked towards him in bunches at a time, why there were so many blogs and fanpages and tweets and pictures whatsoever about him. She could see it all, because she was seeing him in person, and coming from a woman who didn't give men much attention unless she was drunk and wanted a quick fling, or to her boyfriend, that was definitely saying something.

Perseus Orion Jackson was most _definitely_ a looker. One hell of a looker. And one, captivating look was all it took for Annabeth to be both disgusted by his overwhelming cockiness and entranced by his undeniable beauty. His familiar raven black hair was wild and mussed, the exact opposite of his father's, and Annabeth could feel the urge to run her hands through those smooth, raven black locks. His green eyes gleamed, and despite their slightly dullened quality, they still shone, but the cold and iciness was not to be missed. He was well built and quite sturdily so, and Annabeth, once again, could feel the urge to run her palms down those shapely abs and - and she was _not_ loosing herself with disgustingly ecstatic fantasies of him. No, she was not like those pathetic girls who yearned for hot models like him. She was cool, and she was composed. She was assessing him, and she would do a thorough assessing quite viciously.

And once she removed those desires and thoughts and fantasies, and made sure to throw them into some dark, dark abyss, many things about him became clear at once. So clear, and so quick, that it was quite amusing.

Her eyes stripped down every single mental layer in him, every single building, every single metal block. Every single barrier. And what lay underneath was but a child, a mere child, who was small and pathetic, and knew nothing of this world.

Her grey eyes trailed up, and clashed with his green eyes, the beginnings of an arrogant look forming in her eyes, and suddenly, there was nobody in the room but her and him. Her and him. Annabeth Chase, and - and - not a mere child, but - but -

Annabeth suddenly found herself unable to understand him.

Every single human she had met thus far, she had been able to strip down. Every single mental barrier, every single steel wall, every single metal brick, she could tear down. Every single one of them. Yet, when it came to this magnificent, godly, gorgeous young man whom she had just met, yet seen in countless of photos, and whom she was soon to be married to, she stripped down every single layer of his barriers, and found a cowering, pathetic child. Yet, again, when she looked up and into those green orbs of his, even from such a distance away, they most definitely did not look like that of a child's. His green orbs were cold. Ruthless, and icy. Murderous even. Eyes that you would expect a cold-blooded murderer to have.

And that came to the question: who could manipulate someone smart enough like herself like that? You see one thing when you strip him of his mental defenses, yet when you look into those endless eyes, you find something entirely different. So this man was not stupid. This man was now a someone to Annabeth - and anyone whom she had just met and was right away a someone to Annabeth was dangerous and important.

And that someone most certainly was not a child.

But Annabeth wouldn't admit to defeat, which was why, moments later, at least half a second later, she found a real flaw with no manipulation whatsoever behind it.

Reluctance. Hesitation. Anger.

Emotion.

It was written in the subtle clench of his jaw, even as his eyes settled on the lovely blonde woman a few meters away from him, and had to crinkle out of politeness. It was written in the slight raising in his eyebrows. It was written in the slight, fractional widening of his eyes, as he surveyed her. It was written in the tense position his mouth was in, even as he formed a cold, unconvincing smile that was meant to be mannerly. And it was written in the not-so-subtle clenching of his hands, which Annabeth still noticed, despite it being buried deep in the pocket of his formal suit.

It was written in the slightest of things, things that only a person like Annabeth herself would look for in the people she considered important. Usually, she could strip down every defense of a person in a matter of a few mere moments, though admittedly long. But here was man whom she couldn't do that to - a man whom she desperately wanted to unravel now, mentally of course, now that she found that she couldn't comprehend him to every last corner and crevice of his feelings and his emotions. If he showed one thing behind his mental defenses, and another thing in his eyes, than what was really going on inside him? How would she ever know?

A man whom she most definitely wanted to explore, now that she found that he couldn't be unraveled as easily as she had initially thought. Said man took a confident, though slow step in, and leaned against the frame of the double doors. He scanned her, and unlike how she scanned every newcomer for every single detail besides those whom she found trivial, he scanned her body (of course) and though the slight darkening of his eyes did not go unnoticed as he supposedly ravished her with his eyes, there was something behind them. Behind the appreciation, was something deadly. Something assessing.

Something that scanned her as if she might be a possible threat.

One single piece of a thousand missing puzzle pieces fell into place about this Perseus Orion Jackson.

Annabeth smirked at him.

"And you must be the lovely Miss Annabeth Chase." Annabeth tore her gaze away from the object of her new fascination, and focused on the older version of Perseus. Poseidon Olympus of the Trident Industries. Impressive, though not so much. She wiped the smirk off her face cleanly, and fixed a new, polite smile on her face, and it seemed almost as if there hadn't been a smirk on her face in the first place. Poseidon and Frederick had stepped out of their seemingly brotherly embrace, and now both men's eyes were fixed on Annabeth, still standing. Annabeth ignored her father's gaze, and instead fixed her outer attention on her fiance's father.

"Yes, that's me. Poseidon Olympus of the Trident Industries, am I correct?" She held her hand out regally, and looked at him inquiringly, the same polite smile pasted onto her face.

"Why yes, you are correct. Miss Annabeth Chase of the _Athenian_ _Owl_ Industries, am I correct?"His eyes darkened, and the warm look he had given her father slipped away, leaving an impassive facade in it's place. Annabeth got the distinct impression that she was being mocked, and this immediately hit her pride. The way he said her company's name - she didn't like it in the least. And also, he wasn't taking her hand. Bastard. It was her first time meeting him too.

"Why _yes_ , you _are_ correct. It is an absolute _pleasure_ to meet you." When Annabeth gets insulted, there's never anything that could keep her back from coming up with a quip. Yeah, she knew she was giving the enemy the advantage of knowing that they were getting under her skin, but there was nothing as bad as being insulted. Insulted. What a dirty word.

Poseidon raised an eyebrow, and then stretched out and slowly took Annabeth's hand, giving it a firm shake, all the while staring straight into her eyes.

"You have her - "A loud chuckle resounded throughout the room, sending both shivers that were uncalled for, and a surge of annoyance through Annabeth, because she somehow knew that Poseidon had been about to say something important before Jackson has interrupted. She knew because she noticed the tense look her father had gotten when the words had spilled out from corner of her eye, and she knew because of the relieved look that followed suit when her soon to be father-in-law had been cut off.

Poseidon took his seat next to Fredrick, looking uneasy for a mere moment, before returning back to his composed nature. He turned his gaze towards his son, looking amused.

"You must be my darling wife." A heavily muscled hand draped itself around her shoulders, and though it sent shivers - stupid, traitorous body - down her spine, another tinge of annoyance surged through her. She forced another smile on her face as she sat down, hoping to shake the hand off.

His voice was musical. Lilting in a masculine way, much like how she herself had been told her voice was lilting in a feminine way, though she had never believed something that sounded so lifeless as her voice could be lilting in any aspect. She loved it at once, and hated it with all her heart at once. A voice like that could tug at her heartstrings, but of course, she was not so easily swayed. She could never be so easily swayed. She was a woman. A stone-cold woman.

She returned back to the situation at hand, and her fiance sat down with her, his bulging arms never wavering.

She spread her forced smile wider, and turned to face him and get a good look at his expression and - and for a moment, she was breathless. Utterly breathless. Those green eyes - they were not just green eyes. They were emerald green eyes, shining in the dull light of the room. They sparkled, despite the situation they found themselves in, and Annabeth could see herself reflected in his pupils, but that didn't matter. She was swimming in those emerald green waves, and she could drown, but she stayed uptight. She stayed stubborn. She stared into them, and was too focused to figure out what expression was pasted on and and engraved into them. But whatever it was, they stared back, just as mystified.

She tore her gaze away, and focused on making him seem less likable.

"Not your wife yet, not until next week, of course." She stumbled the slightest of bits in the beginning, but was glad to say the rest went smoothly.

But her fiance didn't notice, though under different circumstances, he most probably would have, noting the type of person he was. Instead, his eyes flashed towards his father, leaving her grey orbs, looking surprised. The silence echoed throughout the room, and Annabeth looked around her, at her father, the first hint of unease appearing her perfect features. Her father looked uncomfortable, and that was Annabeth's first warning. Alarm bells rang in her head.

Her fiance's hands tightened around her shoulders, almsot squeezing her neck, and she found him looking straight ahead, his face looking almost - pitiful? Was that it? She clenched her jaw, and assessed the heavy silence hanging around the table.

What hadn't they told her? What else?

Fredrick looked away, but his mouth moved.

"Annabeth, what did Helen tell you about the - er, the marriage proposals?" Annabeth answered slowly, trying to stay solid, trying to keep the panic at bay,

"Something about a private proposal - " Here, the relief on his face was evident, and Annabeth rushed on, wanting to both destroy that relief, and preserve it, for now, her brain was racing ahead of her, and she had a good idea about what was going on. "- a fake private proposal, mind you, and a few public proposals." The relief crashed, and so did Annabeth's emotions.

Her heart started racing, and she forced it to slow. Panic washed down on her like the rain pelting the grass outside.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as her fiance released her of his muscular hold, and his hands secured themselves around her wrist, pushing her into his leather recliner next to her own, as he got up. His face was expressionless as he kneeled, and Annabeth stared down at him as he let go of her wrist, and went down to his knees next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Poseidon starting taking out papers from a briefcase he had laid down on the floor, one she hadn't seen, and she felt like retching.

This wasn't happening. This was supposed to be fake.

As the movements around her went slowly, her brain duly processed and remembered how in most movies, the lucky girl being proposed to covered her hand with her mouth, her expression of shock and ecstasy. The hand-covering-the-mouth movement she could now understand perfectly, except the ecstasy was replaced with shock, and the shock was replaced with more shock. No ecstasy. No happiness. In fact, there was bile rising up her throat.

Her fiance thrust his hands into the pocket of his formal suit just as Poseidon gently shoved the papers toward her, and she watched him in her peripheral vision. Perseus brought his hand out, holding a tiny, black, velvet case, and slowly flicked the head open, revealing something large, glittering, and shiny.

Annabeth swallowed down the appetizers she had been given when she had first entered the restaurant.

Her fiance's eyes flickered up to meet hers, grey against green, and like the girls in the movies, her hands flicked up to cover her mouth, only to keep the bile from getting out. She stiffened, and she stared.

"Annabeth Chase, will you marry me?"

* * *

 **Wow. Wowwieee. Four minutes past twelve, meaning it's past midnight here, so it's officially the twenty ninth. Nothing special today - or shall I say tomorrow? - and it's Friday, which is a relief, because school has me wanting to go on the 'off with their heads' mood with every human being surrounding me.** **Testing is next week, so no guarantees on when the next chapter will come out. But I've already started it - about 2,000 words in, so maybe you can expect it sooner than you think. And peoples. de Jackson has de proposed. And Annabeth is shocked. Just like an actual proposal, except it's not sooo**

 **And this needs more details, like it needs, and so it says unedited for a reason. It will be edited - someday. I think. Catch any major grammatical errors I shouldn't have screwed up? Do tell me, please.** **Anywho, I'm exhausted, and I got shit to study for. And it's the dAMN weekend. Ima go to sleep. Or scroll online the next few hours. Eh. Sleep tight, New Yorkers. That's where I am. Otherwise, um, good morning? Good afternoon? Good day?**

 **Andd I'm out.**


	4. You Have A Nice Ass, Honey

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

* * *

 **0 0 4**

 **YOU HAVE A NICE ASS, HONEY  
[ unedited }  
[ 4.30.17 ]  
[ 6,979 words ]**

* * *

 **WITHIN MOMENTS OF HIS FAKE-PROPOSAL,** Annabeth had her composure put back into place, and the bile forced down her throat. She embraced the cool facade, and let a few moments of silence stretch on to relieve herself. The atmosphere was somewhat warm. No, extremely warm. The slight beads of sweat could be felt on her backside, and Annabeth suddenly got the pretense that her turtleneck was once again damp, and the two men sitting warm and tense in front of her could probably see it.

She could only hope that they thought it was the rain pounding outside that was the problem, or rather, had been the problem, but even then, it would still be embarrassing, because she was a rich businesswoman and she should have had an umbrella, and the smarts to have brought one.

Catching the direction her thoughts had taken, she suppressed a bitter laugh. Here she was, being proposed to by one of the supposedly hottest men in the world, and she was thinking about umbrellas. _Umbrellas_.

And then, suddenly, the man proposing to her didn't seem so - so _ravishing_ anymore. His polite smile seemed more of a scowl, though slightly pitiful and self-remorseful, and his Mediterranean skin tone - _why hadn't she noticed this before?_ \- seemed a tad bit sickly and gray.

She supposed she wasn't the only one who really wanted to go retch wherever the hell, despite having swallowed it down. A small cough wrenched her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see her father looking at her intensely, his look almost bordering on glaring, though desperate, but she ignored it.

"This is a fake proposal." She stated, with all the assurance of a confident businesswoman, which she really, _really_ was. Her words were put there as if to finalize it, and she stared down at the papers scornfully. Poseidon had shoved a whole load of papers, a thick wad of papers towards her. Each had small, black words printed in, and the words that caught Annabeth's attention nearly gave her a heart attack. She stared up at her soon to be father-in-law. Sooner than expected.

"I've already gotten Perseus's marriage license, and your father has gotten yours. They've been signed and printed in your names, and solely yours." He paused, and Annabeth caught herself curiously wondering where they had gotten her signatures from.

"You two have already been registered, and the official papers have been sent." _What the hell?_ And then: "Here they are. You two are expected to sign these papers. Your father and I will be acting as the - the representatives, you could call us. We will be watching this private marriage ceremony proceed, as will one more."

The last bit of his sentence wafted through her emotions, and she let it slip, because she didn't care. And then: silence. Hateful, bitter, silence. Annabeth resented this silence, and she lived in it. Here were the few seconds as a free, unmarried woman, dear God.

She let the silence stretch out for a little while longer, a little bit more, and then a little bit more. Just a few more minutes. She contemplated over the idea of saying ' _no_ ' to his face, and his expression, whatever it might be, if it was negative, sent a thrill of pleasure through her, and Annabeth suddenly came to realize one of the feelings surging through her.

Hate.

She hated the man who called himself her father, the man who was forcing her into this, with no exceptions. She hated her father-in-law who had set these wicked papers in front of her, and expected her, _her_ to sign them and be content and happy and live fucking _happily_ _ever_ _after_ with a man who was stupid, and handsome. She hated the man who kneeled in front of her now, on his knees, looking at her but not quite, holding out that - that _glorious_ , _wicked_ thing that he expected her to say yes to.

She hated them all. All of them. _Screw_ his looks. _Screw_ their composed demeanors and shit. She wouldn't, she couldn't. She was not getting married, for fuck's _utter_ sake!

A foot found her own heel-clad foot, and pressed down, more and more and more. It seemed desperate, this pressing, not abusive. Not meant to hurt. Meant to alarm her. The expression on her husband's face matched the desperation perfectly. He was proposing to her, and he was threatening her. Any sense of attraction she might have found in him went right out the door. Stupid bastard. He couldn't control her. He wouldn't control her. Stupid, bastard, husband.

No. Not husband. Never _husband_. Well, not yet at least. She hadn't signed the papers. She could find a way out of this. She could find one, she would find one, and - and then the foot was pressing down even more, and suddenly angry that he could dare touch her so threateningly, she soundlessly shoved it away, and pressed down on it with the heel of her foot harder than he had.

Then, the air got so suddenly suffocative around her, she couldn't stand it. She had to say something, she would say something. She would say no. But she was trapped, and so she couldn't. There was only one other alternative that could get her out of this situation, and put her in peace, but that wouldn't be peaceful at all. That would be torture. That would be hell. She would be sentencing herself to a life of hell.

"Yes." Her voice was but a whisper, floating in the air, and as if there hadn't been air in the room until she had spoken, three collective, consecutive breaths of relief followed suit. Her heart pounded and pounded, and then it struck to the point where she thought she would fall, but to her disappointment, it dullened to a distant roar. _She had sentenced herself to a life of hell._

"Congratulations. You are now husband and wife."An unfamiliar voice joined their little circle of whatever it was, but Annabeth didn't care. Fuck him, fuck them, fuck them all, They were not husband and wife. They were - they were enemy and enemy. Yes, yes yes. That was it. Not husband and wife. Never husband and wife. But yet, they were. He had proposed.

She had just been proposed to, and she was already married? No, she was supposed to be engaged. Not married. Never married. Not yet. Not yet. This wasn't how things usually worked out. They had to have a few months at least? She had just been fucking proposed to. No, she wasn't married yet. No no no. No. No. This couldn't be. This wasn't happening.

But then she was being nudged in an annoyed fashion, and with her senses numb and unable to be described, she soundlessly got up and moved herself into her own chair, as Jackson settled hismelf back into her own chair, and took her hand without any emotion. There was no feel to his hand, besides a few sparks, but they went unnoticed. There was no feel to anything anymore.

She stared, unfeeling, as he slid something sparkly and large and glittering onto the third finger of her left hand - she recalled something about ring fingers and traditions - and she watched as he held her hand with one hand without any emotion, and the other hand moved to his suit pocket, and removed a golden band. He handed it to her soundlessly, and they both watched as she took it and wrenched her hand out of his grasp to take his own hand, but unlike him, where he took hers without feeling, she was crushing his hand, breaking every single bone in them. She wondered if he could feel it. She hoped he could. She slid the ring of his into the same finger he had her, the third finger of his left hand, and then they were both looking at eachother, she into his seemingly endless emerald green eyes, and he into her beautiful, alluring, intelligent grey eyes.

This, in normal weddings, was the moment where the bride and groom kissed. No vows had been given, and so, were they even bride and groom? Husband and wife? Fiance and Fiancee? What were they now? She couldn't understand.

They stared at eachother. Grey against green. Grey against green. Intelligent, wise, wide beautiful grey eyes against charismatic emerald green eyes. Enchanting, but revolting. Annabeth stared into them and she knew that she could get lost, but she didn't. And he stared back, his eyes holding a somewhat amazed quality, and Annabeth didn't care about it enough to understand it. Her thoughts drifted, still staring. She was confused, and she was lost. Two qualities that she wasn't sure she understood, and this made a wave of melancholy erupt inside her. She looked away, instead focusing on the edge of the table, which was covered in the tablecloth, and slowly sank slightly the the pain became numb.

She wanted to get out of this place. The air was suffocating her, and she wanted out. She wanted to understand why she was here. Why she was doing this. Why she had to do this. Why she was getting married to a mafia assassin.

She was getting _married_ to a _mafia assassin._

All thoughts of his beauty and his eyes forgotten, she returned back to her old thoughts, where she did not warm to the idea of being married into a life of luxury and constant action. She wasn't stupid. She knew what marrying a mafia mobster would guarantee. Blood. Death. Loss. Though maybe his death would set her free.

She wondered curiously if she might get into it, before letting the whole idea of it go. There were much more urgent matters to attend to, rather than thinking about whether she herself might become a mafia assassin.

Like the fact that she was supposedly now married, and the signing of the papers, the same papers that had been gently shoved towards her, and the same that now leered at her threateningly, would guarantee it all. Make this shit official.

She wondered if they could finish this off in a different place. A place less suffocating, more open. She needed a breeze. She needed - "I feel that it's more suitable, for, er, me, if we could go someplace more ... _open_ , in a manner of speaking." Both Fredrick and Poseidon raised their eyebrows, and Annabeth relaxed back into her recliner, fixing her expression for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

"I agree." As musical as the past times she had heard it, his voice, but more quiet, more tired, more worn down. More reclusive. And then he let go of that quiet nature.

"My wife and I would appreciate the effort," He said the word ' _wife_ ' with some sort of fervor, as if he was tasting it, mocking her with it, tempting her to get angry with it. Annabeth clenched her jaw, this thing somewhat, somehow, getting on her nerves.

For a few moments, all there was, was silence. Annabeth moved her gaze and instead of staring at any particular person, she looked ahead and - Oh. She had almost forgotten about that unfamiliar voice, because now, there stood another man, in his late thirties, leaning against the frame of the double doors, watching them with a rather indescribable expression. He had blond hair brushed back, until his neck, with a few strands of grey hair mingled in. His smile was devious and full of cunning, and his blue eyes shone with mischief. His skin was slightly dark.

For some godforsaken reason, Annabeth felt that he looked familiar to her. She pushed it away.

"Hello, Annabeth." He nodded at her, and all Annabeth could do was nod back at him politely. Why was he even here? Did he have to be here? Hell, he had announced them to be husband and wife, for god's sake. Again, she resisted the urge to throw up. Both Fredrick and Poseidon acted as if they hadn't heard this encounter.

"I suppose that's a good idea. I know the perfect place." And then, without further ado, both Poseidon and Fredrick got up and pushed their recliners in. Poseidon collected all the documents and such, and put them away neatly in his suitcase, taking his time, before he turned towards the blonde man who had pronounced Annabeth and Jackson as husband and wife.

"Thank you for bestowing us with your, er, priest license. You've done me quite a favor." Then he proceeded to walk out the double doors without another word, with Fredrick following behind him. Moments later, the blond man followed suit.

And that left only Annabeth and her husband. Or was he yet her husband? They hadn't signed the papers yet. But before they could speak a single word to eachother, Jackson was getting up and walking towards the double doors, his pace fast, his face set.

Annabeth smirked, pushing all the numbness aside. He was giving up first. He was losing. He was a coward. He couldn't stand it. Before he could set another foot out the door, she whispered, "Coward," victoriously, before looking herself over, getting up, and walking with slow, sure steps toward and out the door, of which was still held in Jackson's hands, who had gone stiff.

"What a gentleman." She whispered as she left, and she could've sworn he made a sound, but she didn't look back even once to check. Anger always effectively replaced the horrid numbness. Anger was always the solution. And who better to take her anger out on her dearest husband? He'd have to learn to get used to it, somehow, if he was to be married for however long they were to be married. Poor, poor husband of her's.

He was in for one hell of a ride.

* * *

 **ANNABETH COULDN'T BELIEVE SHE DIDN'T SEE IT COMING.** She should have seen it coming. It was right there, in front of her face, somewhere underneath all that thinking about this stupid little marriage that was sure to be fucked. It was always there. If she had just thought to think deeper about this marriage, preferably the public aspects of it, she probably should have, and probably would have, known.

She would've figured that sharing a bed with her husband meant sharing a house with her husband.

If the two of them weren't such public figures, they probably would have made it through living separately. But, of course, that wasn't going to happen, mainly because the two of them were very much known. Very, very much known.

And so here they were, standing in front of her and her husband''s soon-to-be shared house, having been officially told that they were now husband and wife again by both Poseidon and Fredrick - the blonde priest man had left to somewhere - and having to deal with it. Well, not so much as standing as sitting. They were in the car - Poseidon's sleek car, to be exact, and Annabeth hadn't given much thought to what type it was because her mind had been busy with other things - and both she and her husband, whom was sitting right next to her, and whom she was careful not to touch her thighs to, were now staring open-mouthed at the structural, gorgeous home in front of them. The home that was to be theirs.

If Annabeth could have, she would have admitted to it, because it was the pure, simple truth: the house was beautiful, extravagant even, and suited every single one of her tastes. The architectural construction of it had been craftily done, and it was exactly, well, _almost_ exactly like something akin to Annabeth's dream house. She even had a similar layout to it back in her office, one she rove over revising every single time she got the chance.

The house was modernized to full standards, and it was beautiful. The front lawn had also been craftily done, the clumps of grass having been cut proportionally and designed in perfect hearts - what the absolute hell - in some areas, and in perfectly round, curved circles in other parts. The wooden pathways leading up to the house were not at all poor; in fact, they had been carved into an arc, and was hanging above a perfect pond of clear, blue water. Annabeth half expected koi fish to be jumping up in perfect arcs to complete the show. The house itself was - there were no words to be described about the house. It was beyond bizarre, beyond the highest standards of her buildings.

Beyond the elaborately made bride, were two sets of marble staircases, a walkway separating one from the other. From where Annabeth was, all she could see of it through and from the downpour of rain was the white, clear quality of it, nothing more. Beyond that, and moving onto the details of the house, the door led into the first part of the house, seemingly made entirely of glass, and Annabeth found herself wondering about whether they were bulletproof for some peculiar reason. The glass was blue and clear, but somehow, you couldn't see anything inside. Well, you could, but slightly, very very faintly. Barely. These see-through slabs of glass were formed into square shapes, each cut off perfectly, and jagged only to meet the corner of the next square. The building curved into itself at some point, and then let go, curving around the slope of the lawn instead, except this second part of the building was not at all clear. The glass was white, and solid, and nothing could be seen through to the inside.

Such perfection took her breath away, and considering her job at work was mainly made up of the structures and construction of buildings, along with other technical paperwork and crap, Annabeth knew what she was talking about. Or rather, what she was thinking about. She was one of the most known architecturalists in the world - her praises were sung where the formats for extremely elaborately made buildings were to be made a reality. And this, this was something she had been trying to find upon her crafting. Yet, it was already a reality.

Annabeth then found herself scolding herself for not being good enough, and decided that she would do everything and anything in her power to not fall in love with this building, and also make something more gorgeous than this could ever be.

"Where are all the goddamned umbrellas?" Poseidon's voice snapped both her and her hus - no, she meant Jackson - who had been staring just as amazed at the house over her shoulder, though being careful not to touch her, and though his attempts were futile because their shoulders always brushed, and so maybe he was not being careful after all - out of their stupor, and she turned to look at him, startling momentarily before composing herself. She knocked into Jackson's chin, and their eyes clashed once again, except this time, he had a smirk on his face, and Annabeth glared, while wondering when they had gotten into _such_ friendly terms with one another.

"I think they're in the trunk." Annabeth said, only out of politeness, and out of pure desire to see the inside of this house. If the outside of it was so beautifully down ... then how extravagant would the inside be? It was sure to be elegant, with shrewdly made paintings and sculptures of which could inspire her to do something more amazing, something more fantastic, something the whole world could look upon and admire in all it's beauty ...

She faintly caught herself wondering who had made such a beautiful thing. and how she could compete with it. How could she ever compete with this - this elegance, this beauty? She could already see herself falling in love with this home, rather than her husband, and then her fantasies turned sharp, as they usually did when she led a shred of hope slither in through her metal walls.

"Well, could either of you get them out? The chauffeur - "He said that last word with a posh, ridiculous french accent, and Annabeth found that it was more mocking than self - ridiculing. " - said he wouldn't take a bloody step in this grizzly bear of a downpour, whatever the hell it means. Seems more British than French really." The polite pretense had faded away, to be replaced with old-men grumbles and cursing.

Annabeth knew she wouldn't do it. She couldn't do it. She'd have to stretch over Jackson to be able to do that, and then she'd have to -

The point was that she wasn't going to do it, only because of the queer way they had piled into the car. In the front of the car, the chauffeur sat alone, silently fuming at the mocking he had gotten, but having to deal with it. In front of Annabeth, sat Poseidon and Fredrick, both their postures lazy and slumping, though somehow rigid at the same time. And then, in the very back, sat Annabeth and the Jackson kid - no, he wasn't a kid but honestly, she was running out of things to call him, and the same things just got boring - in a uncomfortably cramped space, trying to keep themselves from touching eachother. Somehow, the cramped space made the heat from their bodies seem more alluring to the other, and they both really, really wanted to - to touch eachother. But also, behind Annabeth was a whole load of whatever, and then, right behind Jackson, were the pile of perfectly put together umbrellas, and Annabeth's body would have to intersect with Jackson's to reach it, and she was not letting that happen. He'd catch a good look at her backside, which could not happen, and the already bad enough heat would spread further. The stupid heat. It was there for the both of them. They both rubbed it off as wanting warmth from the brutal rain outside.

"Well?" Poseidon turned his head to face them, and narrowed his eyes at them. "Annabeth, m'dear, will you please get the umbrellas?" A mischievous twinkle flared into his eyes, and from the corner of her eye, she could see the amused expression form on Jackson's face. When had he decided to get comfortable enough with her to be able to bring down that cool facade, and bring up the flirtatious, i-know-you-think-i'm-hot looks and expressions on?

She suddenly found herself regretting the few words she had taunted him with back at the restaurant for letting him get comfortable enough. They had been meant to _taunt_ him, not lead him on!

And also: like father like son. They were both extremely perverted. And Poseidon was an old man, for fuck's sake!

"Why, Perseus is _much_ closer. Surely he'd _love_ to show off his _manly_ strength as he reaches out to get them. And he's also much closer, if that hasn't been mentioned already." She murmured sweetly, her voice turning from sweet to poisonous in a matter of moments. Poseidon raised an eyebrow at his son, who now had a sour expression. Damned bastards, the both of them.

"And I'm sure the both of you bastards can be spared a view of my backside," she murmured even more quietly, but from the two men's expressions, they had heard her all right. Her father's head perked up, and she could've sworn she saw the edge of a smile on the side of his face she could see.

"Hmm. Feisty, are we?" Jackson murmured just as quietly next to her, but he didn't budge. She refused to yell at him and give up.

"You've reeled in quite the fish, son." Poseidon winked.

"No one's caught any fish, Poseidon." She commented sharply, her voice almost patronizing.

"Soon, then, I suppose." The man next to her murmured yet again. She snapped at him.

"Instead of reeling in fish, _sweetheart_ , why don't you reel in an _umbrella_ so you can hold it over my head as I walk out like the perfect _gentleman_ you are?" She could see that the rain was slowing outside, yet she reeled him on, and she could see his jaw clench as he remembered. _What a gentleman_.

"Anything for my _darling_ wife." He growled back, before turning back and arching himself over the back of his seat to get the umbrellas, and in the process, giving Annabeth a worthwhile view of his own backside, making her forget the way he had said the word _wife_ , and had gotten on her nerves. She smirked as he turned back towards him, umbrellas in tow. Poseidon took them, and started arranging them to be brought out, turning around. Annabeth turned toward Jackson, smirk in place.

"Nice ass, honey." And then, without giving Perseus another thought or look, she focused on the umbrella that Poseidon has outstretched towards her. She took it, and she handed to Perseus, a smug smile forming on her face.

"How nice of you to offer to hold it over my head! A nice ass, and likable manners! A gentleman indeed!" She was sure he wasn't used to hearing such mocking compliments, and the scowl on his face was proof of that. He took it, and held it stiffly in his hand.

As they got out, Annabeth stepped out, and didn't need to look to see the rain had stepped. She busied herself with supposedly fixing her turtleneck. And when Perseus turned towards her, his mouth wide, his emerald orbs flaring, she feigned shock, looking around with faux astonishment.

"Oh my! I must not have seen this horrible rain stop! Must your backside attract all my attention?" He scowled, but nevertheless, opened the umbrella and held it above her head, despite there not being any rain.

"I didn't know my dearest wife was such a fan of classics set in olden times," was the only wounded quip he could come up with. And it was so downcast, so gloomy, all Annabeth did was suppress a smile, because she knew she had won this one, and it better to let him regain his pride. Though she had been _complimenting_ him - what _had_ she done?

And when had things started to become a competition with this man? She had, after all, just met him.

* * *

 **THE INSIDE WAS EVEN MORE SPECTACULAR** than the outside, and did not disappoint at all. No constructive statues that she could rove over because of their beauty, but the paintings - oh hell, the paintings almost made up for it. The ornate beauty of them, they certainly were to be admired.

And even if there were no craftily made statues to admire, the grand staircases, and the glass patio, and the beautiful opulent furniture all certainly made up for it. There were so many things about it that were so grand, Annabeth lost count.

This was much more richer than that of what she was used to, and Poseidon, who was showing them around, owned it all. Apparently, it was a beforehand wedding present to them, as he was currently explaining. She had figured it out anyway, when he had mentioned that it was theirs for the rest of their lives, though she hadn't known that it was a 'beforehand' wedding present.

"Does that mean we aren't married yet?" Annabeth voiced, a tinge of hope making it's way into her voice. Poseidon smiled pitifully, and went on with his describing without answering her.

The room that they had stopped in front of was marvelous. It was cream-colored, and most of the furniture was mahogany and finely crafted, and here and there, there was gold sparkling, adding a light lust-tinged quality to the room. There were a few portraits, and then a few empty ones too, but Annabeth scanned them over, dismissing them carelessly. Her eyes came to rest upon the king-sized bed, and all at once, it became clear to her what this room was, and what would serve it's purpose.

There were so many pillows resting upon it, that Annabeth didn't even bother to count, and each and most of the pillows had golden thread sewed into them, different patterns and designs. Some went blank too, creating some sort of pattern in the ones that did and didn't, and in the two sides, there were two huge normal-sized pillows, meant for two occupants.

Two occupants. Not one.

And then the whole heir thing came crashing down upon her, and she realized, at the back of her mind, that Poseidon had answered her - in his own way. This was the master bedroom, meant for it's two sole owners - which were herself, and that wretched Jackson shit.

"You two will both be expected to sleep here. I'm sorry if it puts any - er - unnecessary pressure on you, but it's important you two actually develop a relationship, whether it be physical or an actual one, and give something for the public to take. Something to believe. Something that is genuine."

"Together?" They both questioned simultaneously, and Annabeth didn't dare to look at him, suddenly fearing that it would all become a reality, now that they had started speaking together. That made no sense at all, and usually, Annabeth was quite the sensible person.

"Yes. Together." Poseidon surveyed both their reactions, and Annabeth didn't know what Jackson thought about it, but she herself was beyond horrified.

"We aren't married yet." When her father-in-law raised his eyebrows, she hurriedly went on, "I haven't signed the papers yet." Not him, her. She was talking about herself specifically, as if his decision, meaning her husband's decision, didn't matter.

"Oh yes. The papers." He brought out the papers from the large, inside pocket of his formal suit, and Annabeth raised her eyebrows. When did he transfer them from his suitcase to his suit? What, could he not be bothered to bring the suitcase itself in?

He held the papers out toward them. "All I need you two to do is sign them, and give them to me, in, say.." He trailed off, his gaze turning towards the window. The king-sized bedroom had captured all of her attention, and following his gaze, she found a window in the shape of a long rectangle, but curving down at the top. Each panel of the glass was cut into small squares, and from the outside, she could see the damp outlines of the front lawn, and moonlight just at the edge of shining in.

It was already nighttime.

"By tomorrow, or the day after. Whatever day suits you. We would have explained everything, the details and such, but I'm sure the papers will provide enough for you until we decide the time is right for us to ... tell the two of you, your assignments, and the particular reason you were put together on such short notice."

She looked at him for a moment, and nodded her head, acting as if she understood, but in all honesty, her mind wasn't functioning anymore. She looked down at the watch on her wrist, which, surprisingly, blared 10:17 PM. It had been two hours. She had set out at 7:20, the meeting had been scheduled for 8:00, and now, two hours and seventeen minutes later, they were standing in her house, about to sign off the papers which would make them officially married.

This really was her house now.

"You two are to start living here starting tonight." Fredrick spoke, his voice unusually quiet, and Annabeth startled. She had almost forgotten that her father was still here. Almost immediately, an objection started at the edge of her tongue, but he silenced her with a cold, intense glare, one that she was used to getting when she was doing something wrong. But she hadn't received that glare since she had first started working in the Athenian Owl Industries.

Something similar was going on next to her. "... and you can't expect me - " Perseus seemed as if he was ranting, anger peaking out of his words, but Poseidon looked at him, something dark in his eyes, and he instantly went quiet. Both of Annabeth's eyebrows shot up, and Poseidon looked back at her steadily when he caught her watching.

He took the papers in his hands, and settled them atop a simple, elegantly carved dresser, next to an empty portrait frame.

He nodded at them cheerfully, as if nothing had just happened.

"Well, goodnight, son - " Then his eyes traveled to Annabeth, and he seemed to hesitate. " - Annabeth. Have a wonderful night." And then he jerked his head toward Fredrick, who turned towards them.

"Goodnight, Annabeth. Perseus." Then both men proceeded out the master bedroom, leaving both Annabeth and Percy in a haze of silence, which suddenly seemed tense with an emotion Annabeth couldn't put her finger on.

"You have me now. Happy, whore?" Perseus was the first to break the silence, and he reached down to pluck his shoes off, which he threw across the room. Annabeth watched, her brain not processing anything but his words, and her reply was barely thought out.

"I supposed you were the whore. Screwing a different girl each night. Fits the description doesn't it?" She answered absentmindedly, and through the haze of numbness, she realized that none of her things had been brought. How was she to sleep in this - this place, not comfortable, and without any of her things?

"Really?" He snorted, taking his other shoe off, and then throwing this one too, except this one bounced off the wall and settled itself a few inches before Annabeth. She looked at it, her gaze dull.

She was now married. She was now expected to share a house with this man. A bed with this man. And she hated, hated, hated him. It was his fault. All his fault. Screw him.

"Really what?" She focused on him now, though his form seemed blurry now, but she wasn't crying, and she wasn't on the verge of it either. She was sure of it. He opened his mouth to answer, his expression sharp, and he moved to take off his shirt, his hand splayed out at his hip, as if hesitating. Annabeth looked away. She was standing a few inches away from him, and suddenly, she wanted to be away from him completely. She was not having sex with this whore.

"What happened to those smartass quips down there?" His eyes now focused on her face now, as if realizing that she was completely out of it, and not going to answer in kind to his angry remarks.

"Where are my things?" She questioned, not giving any hint of an answer to his own question.

"I don't know. I'm just as new to this as you are. Might know some more information than you do, though."

"Like?" She questioned sharply.

"I'm a mafia assassin, and you now have a role in my secret life." She rolled her eyes. As if. That probably wouldn't be the case, but why was her heart suddenly pounding?

"I'm aware of the first part, thank you very much. Now.." If he was surprised by her knowledge in this, he din't show it, because his face remained as critical and impassive and slightly angry as before.

"It's our wedding night." He said suddenly, and then he was looking at her like she was prey again, ravishing her with his eyes.

"Stop eye-raping me." She said sharply, and then sighed. "We'll have to set some ground rules, but that'll be done tomorrow. I'll figure everything out, then. For now, one of us will have to take the sofa, and the other will have to take the - " Noting his mischievous look, she added, " - and no, we are not sleeping together."

"It's our wedding night!"

"This is not a _wedding_! This is a sentencing to a life we both _do not want!"_ Her voice rose over his, and he quietened, a cool expression settling over his face. She realized that she had let a tiny part of the panic and anger and the numbness out into her words, and she stopped, looking away, chest slightly heaving.

"Look. I'm tired, and this whole day has been a freaking burden on me. But let's get some things straight: yes, I know your a player, and yeah, you probably think your're god's gift to mankind, and that you look hot, whatever the hell, but I do not care. You are now a weight, heaving down on my life! I never wanted this. And let me tell you something. I hate you, whether it is your fault or it isn't. So we will maintain our distance with eachother, until things are straightened out, and then whatever happens, happens. Are we understood?" She didn't look at him.

"I was doing perfectly fine when you didn't barge in to my life." He answered quietly, and she realized that his feelings about her weren't much different than how she felt about him. They were in his words, in his eyes. Though his eyes held another emotion with it, and Annabeth got the faint feeling that he was, maybe, hurt by her words. She pushed the thought away.

"Thank you. I don't know you, and let's keep it at that. The divorce will be much easier to bear." She knew that there might not even be a divorce, and it hung in the heavy silence between them, but they didn't say anything about it.

"How about this? We share the bed - "At her sharp look, he hurried on. " - we share the bed, but keep to our own spaces? The sofa might not be comfortable enough, and if anyone were to, say, catch sight of us, all the better reason for the public to believe that we are together?" She didn't understand how anyone would catch sight of them, but knowing the paparazzi, they'd do anything to get more information. It was amazing they hadn't been caught coming out of Olive Garden, but the rain may have been the reason for that. They probably didn't even know about them yet, but she ignored that piece of information.

"Okay." She took a breath. "Okay."

"We'll figure it all out tomorrow. Signing the papers, talking about the arrangement, our backstory.." She trailed off, realizing that thinking of all of this was giving her a headache.

"Yeah. Sleep together, keeping to our own personal spaces. Yes. Agreed?" Jackson looked almost as tired as she felt.

"Agreed."

* * *

 **The red line that appears under the words that you misspell when you write, or any obvious editing mistakes, is bot helpful, and extremely annoying. honestly. There's a line appearing underneath every single one of 'Annabeth's there is, which is annoying, but the obvious words that i spell wrong because i never look at it properly while typing is helpful. sort of. now i don't have to look over the whole thing until i decide to edit it.**

 **Anyway, this update was very early. i don't have a set schedule, because i write whenever, wherever, and so i didn't really expect to finish this chapter so quickly. but i decided to put it in. i guess. i'm really excited to write these parts, and lots of things give me ideas. last night, the power went off 'cause some shanks did something to something, whatever it was, and that gave me another brilliant idea for percabeth, in this story, of course.**

 **no guarantees on when the next chapter will come out. it could be in the next two days, or the next two weeks. you never know, and neither do i. after all, it is testing week.**

 **i hope you readers liked this chapter, and dun forget too tell me if there are any obvious mistakes. now, i'll just go do something else. or maybe start on the next chapter. idk.**


	5. Mmm, Blue Strawberries

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **MMM, BLUE STRAWBERRIES  
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** **[ 4,070 words ]**

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 **PERCY WOKE UP FEELING ANNOYED AND PLEASANT,** because there was something very, very bright, and the insides of his eyelids were now glowing orange, and his nose was being tickled by these soft, wavy strands of something, and he was laying on something that had very, very soft skin. He wanted to bury himself into that soft skin, because it smelled faintly of some sort of perfume - what was it? - or was it original? It smelled like strawberries.

Mmm. Strawberries. Strawberries tasted good. He wondered if he could dye strawberries blue too.

He wanted to sniff it more. He let his nose lead the way, caressing those soft locks, or strands, - or was it skin? - or whatever they were - because all Percy wanted to do was stay there and mesh himself deeper and deeper into that soft skin and that soft hair for the rest of his piteous life.

But at the back of his mind, his conscience rose to it's fullest, though the sleep kept it coming low, and a voice whispered that he had to collect his latest assignment from Agent Chiron, he had to discuss his marriage with the smartass Blondie, he had to sign the papers, he had agreed to sleep with Blondie and keep his distance last night - was that even relevant to today's tasks? - and he had to -

He had _agreed_ to sleep with Blondie and keep his distance last night.

He shot up from his comfortable spot on top of the soft, soft skin, and his body protested as his lifeless limbs were forced to move. He shot up until he could barely feel those wisps of silky strands and then he looked down, disgruntled, but hoping with all his heart that he wasn't sleeping on what he thought he was -

Aw, shit.

Not only was he sleeping on top of her, but she was fully awake, glaring up at him with those strangely seductive, flaring grey eyes that he could barely look away from. And this was their first morning as husband and wife too. Shit, shit, _shit_. This was not happening.

And he had been the one who had waken up on top of her, so he couldn't make up some flirtatious joke about her wanting him so bad she could barely keep away. This was not fair. Why had he even moved in his sleep in the first place? Why was her body so warm and inviting and delicious? Traitorous hormones couldn't even be controlled. And he had just met her.

He rolled away from her, groaning, and stuffed his face into the pillow he had taken. The night before, they had both changed out of their respective clothes, and had fallen into bed, one after the other, both exhausted. They had kept their distance, of course, both turned away from the other, at the opposite edges of the bed, but somehow, sometime during the night, Percy had flipped over and landed on Blondie, and used her as a pillow.

He realized, looking over at her with relief, that she had moved too. She had been situated at the edge of the bed, and now they were both at the middle.

Unless _he_ had moved them both...

On the bright side, they hadn't done anything besides sleeping, at least. As tempting as it was, as tempting as _she_ was, he was supposed to hate her, and hate her he did. It was, after all, part of her fault, that he had found himself in this situation, And it was so much easier to not find her tempting when he remembered he hated her

He had just met her. No tempting. Only hating. Though he had to admit, he hadn't seen a girl like her yet. Fiesty. Cold. Quiet. Beautiful, in an icy, impassive way. To his liking.

And also, he hated her, so those didn't matter.

"Good morning, wifey." He mumbled, his voice tinged with sleep, his voice still buried into his pillow, and - were his cheeks flaming? They felt warm, even if it was early in the morning. Maybe it was the glare of the sun, peaking out from the windows. Or maybe it was the heat in Blondie's eyes. Or maybe he was embarrassed that -

Nevermind, that wasn't the point. Honestly, he'd do much better by not talking to her at all, but he knew how much the word ' _wife_ ' made her angry. The frustration on her face when he mentioned the word was obvious, so why not further that anger?

And further that anger he did. In one, swift move, she was sitting up, rolling her shoulders around, looking for kinks, throwing the white comforters back with force sideways so they landed on him, and enveloped him, but he ignored it, watching her through the slip of the blanket he could see through. He found himself realizing that she did not look like she had just woken up. No lines under her eyes, no drooping eyes, no weariness, no sleepiness, no distortion in her looks, no bedhead, nada. She looked as prim and proper as she had yesterday, and her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, except the two single locks that had escaped them yesterday - purposefully, he thought them to be, as a fashion statement - but now, it was five, six, eight, nine, hell even more than that, as the amount of strands that had escaped her ridiculously tight bun. A few stray pieces out of place. Not normal for her.

He looked over, and then, yet another realization hit him: she was dressed up in business attire, or in something somewhat related to business attire. A wine colored ruffle back blazer was draped across the top half of her form, but she had leggings on her lower half - and then there were the shoes. Simple black flats.

Simple and elegant and beautiful, and so, so annoying, because he found her alluring even in the simplest of clothes, and she didn't even looked _ruffled,_ besides the few strands of hair out place. Had she even been sleeping? Or did she normally wake up looking like a goddess in clothes that she didn't even have the night before?

What _had_ she been wearing the night before?

He had been too exhausted to - oh wait. He had gone to bed before her. She had been - doing something else maybe? He faintly recalled hearing the sound of silent, pattering footsteps padding in the hallway outside of their room, and that might have been her. Probably had been her. But there had been a certain style to the way the footsteps had padded - with a certain grace. Had it been her, or had it been his imagination?

"You, you _slobbering_ asshole, will be sleeping on the sofa from now on. No objections will be accepted." She seethed, her grey eyes looking furious, her stance looking rigid. He stared back at her, uncomprehending.

"I am not a dog." He said defensively, but it came out weak and pathetic, because his voice was still laced with sleep, and he sounded disgruntled. It was the only thing he could think about saying, because honestly, he couldn't understand a word of what she was saying. She stared back at him.

"Oh lord, I've married a dumbass." She paused, taking her head into her hands. "Oh wait. I knew that already." Her voice was muffled, and Percy kept on staring at her, wondering if he married a lunatic, because honestly, none of her words were making sense. All he could think about was the soft skin that had been underneath him, the wisps of hair that had tickled his face, and how much he really wanted to -

And then something in her words struck him.

"I'm going to have to sleep on the sofa. Why am I going to sleep on the sofa?" He sounded bewildered, and admittedly, dumb. For a moment, quiet stretched out between them, before Annabeth's head snapped up, and she was lifting herself out of all the white surrounding her, the white being the pillows and the comforters - the ones that Percy had thought to be blankets.

"Because you drool in your sleep." She said simply, before grabbing something metallic and blue from her respective, rather large, nightstand, and walking out into somewhere Percy couldn't see, because the comforter was still covering him and keeping him from seeing anything besides some of her.

He caught himself thinking that it was a shame that her wine-colored ruffle-back blazer covered her bottom, because if she'd caught sight of his, then it was only fair that he caught sight of her's.

Of course, fate was never fair to him.

* * *

 **AFTER HAVING HAD SEARCHED FOR HIS PHONE** for over half an hour - well, he wasn't really sure how long, but it seemed that long - and not being successful, taking a long, cold shower which had prickled his skin but had made the heat leave his body - he didn't even know he was turned on, and this early in the morning too - brushing his teeth, checking and double checking to see if his breath smelled because he honestly didn't want to hear Blondie complaining about his breath next, and thinking about what to do, Percy found himself standing in front of the kitchen, hand scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly, and looking around awkwardly.

Blondie was situated at the kitchen counter, propped up on it, reading something in her lap, and sipping from what looked like a cup of coffee. Her grey eyes flickered up to look him over as he stood, than flicked down again, her expression careless.

"Well. Least you don't look like a complete slob now. Go wear something formal. Your father will be arriving shortly." And then she took another sip of coffee, and Percy, much more awake, found this annoying.

"Where'd you get coffee from? And why is my father coming?" She didn't even move, even when he let his annoyance slip.

"I made the coffee. And he will be giving us all the ... extra information regarding this engagement." He leaned against the door frame of their kitchen, now wary all of a sudden. They were married. They had rings on their fingers, given by the other. And they would sign the paperwork and make it official today.

"Well make me some coffee, while I go prepare." He turned to go, knowing perfectly well what Blondie's reaction would be, and he was not disappointed.

"Excuse me?" Her threatening voice shook the room, and it was then the first hint of regret slithered into his insides. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed her that, that far.

"I am not your housewife. Keep that in mind. I will not do your work for you, and I will not fetch food for you, or whatever shit. I will not act as your housewife. Understood Jackson? We still haven't laid those ground rules yet, and when I do recover from all this news, I will set them down, and if you step an inch out of line - " A dangerous type of quiet spread over the kitchen, and Percy decided he didn't want to know what she would do. What was worse that receiving those hot, heavy, alluring glares from her?

" - I swear, it will be worse than being castrated." He said he didn't _want_ to know. He had been perfectly content with the threat hanging in the air.

"Then what am I supposed to eat?" Percy asked, and before he knew it, an innuendo was forming in his mind.

Annab - he meant Blondie. Blondie turned to him, a sneer in place.

"Go eat some poop out of the toilet for all I care." Then she hopped down from the kitchen counter, set her cup of coffee down, took whatever she was reading in her lap, which now looked suspiciously like a device that he owned, and stalked out the door, brushing her shoulder viciously against his.

He knew he should have been insulted by her words, though quite immature, but he found himself bursting with laughter once her pretty little behind - still covered by that wretched blazer - couldn't be seen. He turned, watching as it faded into the distance, and he swore he saw a victorious smile forming on her own lips when she had been leaving.

Or maybe it was his imagination at it again.

* * *

 **"WERE YOU JUST WAKING UP** when I woke up?" Percy voiced the question that had been ringing inside him from the moment he had stepped into the long hallway that lead out to the front door, having changed his shirt. Instead of his short-sleeved undershirt, he was now in a wrinkled buttoned-up shirt, fumbling with the last button. The damned thing wouldn't enter it's fold properly.

For some reason, his insides were writhing as he asked this question. Somehow, the answer to it was important - why it mattered so much or how it would have to do with anything about anything didn't matter to him anymore - it was just the answer. His wife - no, no, it was Blondie. Her name was Blondie. It was the closest thing he could think of to an insult without actually cursing at her, and one that suited her perfectly, because she was blonde of course. A beautiful blonde. A beautiful, alluring, glaring, hateful, emotionless blonde that he was married to now - well, just about married to.

The papers still lay on the dresser where his father had put them the night before - neither had gotten the time to examine it, and he got the feeling that she didn't want to as much as he didn't want to. And then, this morning, they had woken up tangled up together - he wasn't sure if the both of them had been woken up at that point, because she had been dressed then, and she was completely composed, nothing but a few stray hairs out of place - he had searched for his phone - where was that damned thing? - taken a cold shower - and his wife had given that to him? How? When? Why? - brushed his teeth thoroughly, while Blondie was doing something unknown, and then met up with her in the kitchen, where they had had that slightly awkward, slightly amusing, slightly what-the-hell-just-happened-here, in which he had made that sexist remark - he had had admitted to it - and then he had gone to change his shirt, having no idea where to find them, when he came across a large door in his and Blondie's bedroom - he refused to believe she had been serious when she said that he was sleeping on the sofa from now on - and found a whole loud of neatly pressed shirts and dress-shirts, and formal suits, and shorts and boxers and everything he could need to wear. Coming out, he had spotted the door opposite his dressing room, and that solved the mystery as to where An - his blon - blondie, he meant blondie, had gotten her new clothes. And then he had come here, to the long, main hallway, and was now looking - and not quite looking - at Blondie awkwardly,

He was straying from the point. The point was that he hadn't gotten the time to check those papers he had to sign, and Blondie probably hadn't either, because the papers hadn't budged an inch from where they had been set down.

"Why are you panicking over it?" He shot the woman standing across from him a blank look, momentarily out of it, before realizing that he had asked her something possibly life-altering, and she had answered - well, not quite so much answered as questioned - him with a response. He scrambled to respond back to her, though he kept his face perfectly composed.

When he caught sight of her curious expression, he realized that his face was really composed enough. He had expected a woman like her to see right through him.

"I'd like to know. Confirm that you really can't keep away from me." She scowled at him, the fingers of her right hand loosening on the device she held in that hand - it looked like a phone, and looked vaguely familiar. Was it just him, or was that his phone? - while the fingers of her left hand tightened over the slightly silver, rose-colored device in that hand - he'd seen the rose-colored case, sure, but never the silvered part of it.

"You're very cocky, you know that, Jackson?" She said it more like a statement, her voice more intense that it should have been, but he returned her charming glare with a suggestive smile.

"No. I was not just waking up. Unlike you, who's only job is to be a mafia assassin and kill people in cold-murder, and take on your father's job after he's passed, and be happy about it, or, at least, pretend to be happy bout it, I have a job to do. I woke up five hours before you, worked for two and a half hours, and then took the rest of the day off before coming back. Because, obviously, I can't work while your father is explaining the whole concept to you." Ignoring the comment about murder, having gotten used to it already, he stared, open-mouthed. Three hours? Before him?

When had he woken up? He voiced his question out loud, dreading the worst. Why wasn't there an alarm clock on their nightstands, and why had he forgotten to look at the time?

"You woke up at 12:30. During lunch time. I woke up at 7:30. Went to work at 8:30, because it's - the ground is soggy outside, and I couldn't get a taxi to come fast enough. Worked from then till twelve, and then - " She stopped, and her glare became even more fierce, and the jumble of emotions behind it - if there even were any - were incomprehensible.

"What happened, and how I exactly did we end up in such - a - a compromising situation?" Percy quirked an eyebrow, but her impassive grey eyes remained stubborn, to his disappointment. How he would love to throw her words back in her face from yesterday.

" I - it wasn't a _compromising_ situation, you _twat_. Perfectly one-sided. I forgot my phone at home, I took yours instead, and I came back to see, somehow, you ended up cuddling with it. My phone." She held up the rose-silver colored phone, and he nodded solemnly, as if mocking her.

Percy wasn't a very sharp person. Well, he hadn't been a very sharp person. It was in his nature to trust so easily. Stupid. But when something occurred in his life - he really didn't have the energy to think about it - that dumb trust was replaced by a growing distrust of others, mostly mentally. So it never occurred to him someone would take something physical of his own, instead of trying to break down his walls. Which is why he didn't suspect Annabeth of taking his phone.

" _You_? You took my phone?" He stared at her, and he was sure he looked as dumb as he thought.

Holding back a smile, she kept on going, as if he had never talked in the first place. "I try to get it, except you're cuddling with it. Guess my phone was a substitute for me. Really sweetheart? My phone?" She smiled at him vixen-like, except she wasn't being seductive at all, or meaning to be seductive either - though she did that enough without her knowing. Thus the cold shower he had taken that morning. In fact, she was trying to be clever. Sadly, she was succeeding.

She continued on, cunning smile still in place, the rest of her face icy."I tried to take it, but you, somehow fli - I end up tangled up with you, and I can't get out." Her sweet lips puckered down in a scowl, the devious smile having disappeared, and Percy didn't even have it in him to admire how delicious her lips looked, though the conscience at the back of his head did. And it was supposed to be the clear one too!

He throat had gone too dry.

"I flipped you over?" He escaped stuttering by the minuscule of a second, remembering himself and who he was before talking, and the thought that she had stolen his phone escaped him more and more by the second. Her scowl soured even more.

"You could say that. And somehow - " She stopped, and her eyes almost moved away, but she kept herself before she could. There was a faint hint of red appearing on her cheeks.

"My backside hurt from walking. So I, uh, didn't have the, erm, energy to get up." Some confidence was lost in the explanation, and Percy felt the arrogance come over him again.

"I see. So comfortable in my arms, aren't you, blon - baby?" He caught himself just in time, and he expected her to not notice, because she was so busy being a blushing virgin over there, but her eyes sharpened, and the confidence came back in a moment. But he was wrong. He could see his words hitting her smack in the ego.

"What were you going to call me?"

"Blondie." His confidence and arrogance - it could almost match her's.

"Why you little mother - " Unfortunately. her sweet, cold voice was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell. The sound echoed throughout the hallways, throughout the house, and Percy felt a shiver crawl up his spine, and not in a pleasurable way. Blondie's murderous scowl was replaced by the look he had met yesterday - calm, cool, and impassive. She walked forward confidently, her heels - hadn't she been in flats? - clacking on the tiled floor - or was it wooden? Percy couldn't focus - and he found himself walking forward, a little ways behind her, and the sound of his own, heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, strong and sure.

He stood next to her as she opened the door, and as she fixed a polite, business-like smile on her face - Percy found it awfully bossy and annoying for the few seconds he watched her - and held it out, revealing none other than his father.

Said man stepped in, beaming, a purse made of pearls in one hand, and a suitcase in the other.

"Hello, you two. Annabeth, you forgot your purse yesterday." That was his father all right. Straightforward and very much blunt, half the time, and secretive and slightly manipulative the other half.

* * *

 **I realize that i din't mention DISCLAIMER anywhere in this book so far, and I really,** **really, _really_ don't want to get sued because I'm legit broke - it all went on the hersheys, dun judgey-judge, so here it is:**

 **DISCLAIMER: MOST CHARACTERS BELONG TO RICK RIORDAN, BUT THE PLOT IS FULLY MINE, AND SO ARE THE NEW CHARACTERS ... ****that is, if I do add in any other new characters.**

 **About the chapter. I had a full mind to go a little bit more faster in things. i'm lagging a bit here. but i wanted to dedicate a whole chapter to the information and details, mend up all those holes in the plot that have been left unanswered - and the purse. oh, the purse was almost forgotten. this was mostly a filler. next chapter will contain all the juicy details of why the marriage and why them and how the agreement came to be - well, the parts they are being told, that is.**

 **left unedited, will be edited sometime later. i hope the readers like it.**


	6. Sorry, My Boyfriend Prank-Called You

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **SORRY, MY BOYFRIEND PRANK-CALLED YOU  
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[ 5.7.17 ]  
[ 6,772 words ] **

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**"THANK YOU, POSEIDON. I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT THIS."** After Poseidon had settled down comfortably in the living room, and gestured toward a rather small loveseat, both Annabeth and Percy had taken their seats - in that very same loveseat, no less - awkwardly. They were both squeezed in, and Annabeth's tights-clad leg and Percy's denim clad leg knocked together every few moments, when either of them dared to move a hairsbreadth.

Annabeth, though she had pressed her thighs together and was still able to keep her composure throughout such an uncomfortable position, had a purse in her lap - the same pearled purse Poseidon had come in with. She had taken it awkwardly, and thanked him without much conviction, but nevertheless, held on to it. Percy noted that every single time her attention brushed the purse, her lips would curve downward - giving him the indefinite feeling that she was not very fond of that purse.

"One of the customers found it. The waitress that gave it to me said it was a couple that couldn't keep their hands off eachother - and that the blonde man had found it. He seemed rather relieved to get it out of his sight." Percy felt Annabeth tense up the slightest of bits next to him - almost so that he almost didn't catch it. His shoulder brushed her shoulder, knocking into it gently and soundlessly, reminding her to keep her composure, no matter what she thought of the situation.

"I see." Annabeth responded, without much emotion. "Did she get a good look at the girl, perhaps?" Poseidon leaned forward, and looked at them as if to inspect them.

"She didn't mention anything about it." Her shoulder fell against his, slumping, the most fractional of movements, and he didn't dare to turn and try to figure it out. There was no being comfortable around his father. One wrong leg in the wrong direction could cost you everything. One emotional look would make him high.

"Now. I assume the two of you have at least glanced at the papers?" Silence resounded throughout the room. No, they had not. They had been too busy bickering all throughout the morning, and too tired the night before. Annabeth shook her head, and when his father raised his eyebrows at the two of them, he shrugged, liking the feeling of how his shoulder brushed against Blondie's, rubbing it, and soothing it, and -

"We haven't gotten the chance." Annabeth responded, her voice still as cold as rock. His father sighed.

"Here's what's going to happen. I will tell you the parts about this marriage that you will need to know, and after I make sure you two understand thoroughly, I will leave, and I want those signed papers before tomorrow midnight. We need this wedding to happen, and fast. Whenever either of you get the chance, I'd appreciate it if you two would come up with a cover story for why you two are getting married so quick, and on such short notice." He paused. And then: "Something believable, if you would. Something that seems normal. I don't want anyone suspecting the real motives behind this marriage, or it will all be for nothing."

Silence followed his words, and Annabeth nodded solemnly, her face still impassive, but Percy gave no hint that he had heard his father's words. He stared straight ahead, and only gave a jerky nod when Annabeth's thigh knocked into his slightly, and when the heel of her shoe was pressing into his socked foot.

"Okay. Here's what's going to happen." Both Annabeth and Percy looked up at him expectantly.

"Annabeth, as you have been made aware, Percy has joined the - " His nose crinkled as he said the word, but nothing else gave him out. " - the Los Angelos Mafia. Quite a popular gangster there too." He shot Percy a suggestive look, but Percy kept on the facade that was meant for his father, and most other people he was just being polite to. "He's also a member of the New York Mafia, but he's just joined, and still rising in their ranks." Irrelevant information. What did Annabeth have to do with this information, and why did she need it? She didn't need to know about his greasy, bloody secret life. She didn't have to know about the things he had done. The things he had gone through.

His father continued on. "Now that you two have been married - in private, of course - Annabeth, you'll be joining the Los Angelos mafia in a matter of days, or maybe weeks. The main office had many appointments docked, and even with your husband's high status in their society, they can never find the time to book you in. And so, we haven't been able to finalize the date of your initiation. But you'll be established into the mafia society in a short matter of time, and you will be given assignments - along with your husband. For most, you will both be partnering up, and rarely will you be going alone or with someone else."

Beside him, Annabeth's breath started to hitch, becoming more and more irregular by the moment, and when she stiffened, the movement was much more larger then before. She shuffled uncomfortably, knocking into Percy's shoulder and thigh once again, but she didn't seem to notice. For a moment, her mesmerizing grey eyes left her father and traveled sideways, before immediately sliding back into place. He casually placed a firm hand on her thigh, and immediately, she stopped shuffling, but warmth spread throughout his hand. _Stop reacting,_ he wanted to say. _Keep calm._

From what he'd seen of her, she was quite used to those things. They were part of her life. They _were_ her life. But of course, the news she was receiving now was never the words one expected to hear - ever. He pitied the woman next to him, though he suspected that his head would be loped off the moment he mentioned his sympathy.

It seemed as if she would do so when he had called her blondie, but somehow, at the moment, that memory seemed miles away. His vision was becoming disoriented, and suddenly, the day seemed alot more gloomier and grey than it had seemed before.

"Your missions will be quite specific." And then he lowered his voice, sounding urgent, "Please be careful with what you say and do. Your emotions and thoughts and whatsoever will need to be muffled. One wrong step in the wrong direction, and you will be sent off, never to be seen again. The Mafia has many secrets, and if they are not to be kept, then the consequences will be severe. The Los Angelos Mafia deals with drugs, pills, specializes in rare types of guns, and etc. but the black market isn't the only reason it works out. There are many different beliefs, and many different... wars. Ideas. Battles. Sides to - a - say, a story. This Mafia, it doesn't just exchange illegal products. It conducts illegal experiments. Trades. It's dangerous, and I'd appreciate it if you two didn't meddle in their silly and trivial games." The last part was mentioned darkly, and Percy snorted out loud. He'd appreciate it if they didn't meddle? They had already meddled. And soon, Blondie would as well.

"The Mafia is a dangerous business, a dangerous trade. So with every step you take, be careful, and be stealthy about it. You are most likely being watched. The Mafia is like a game - like chess. Except the two sides not only smash eachother, but most of their own as well. It's a vicious game they play, and no one can escape the inevitability of being a pawn inside their games." Poseidon, who's head had been bent toward them, lifted his head up, the shadowed look quickly transformed into a casual one.

"That is a field where you most definitely have to be careful in. Moving on to other matters, the two of you will both be required to report to the conference house located two streets, and three left turns, one right turn, and then another left away from here. Take a taxi if you will." He nodded toward Percy. "You know the place, son." _Son_. "Both of you will get your own private room, and for six hours, you will both be given time to come up with an eligible story to feed the paparazzi. Keep your details consistent, and genuine. Make sure it is something truly convincing. If the paparazzi get a hint of the real backstory - " His face darkened again. " - things will not be good for either of you." Hadn't he already mentioned the whole make-a-convincing-story-for-the-nosy-paparazzi assignment?

He paused, and there was silence for a long, stretching moment. Percy didn't dare turn to look at his wife's expression - he could only hope she could control himself. She was more than capable, from what he had seen of her yet.

"Now. About the actual wedding. You got married yesterday - " His eyes dipped down towards their hands, and Percy looked down at the glittering golden band on his finger, but found his other hand twisting it around. His face scrunched up in surprise, and his eyebrows raised, but he smoothed it out as the next second came and went. Similarly, Annabeth's right hand was wrapped around her ring, and when she looked down at it, she startled a bit in surprise.

" - and the rings are obvious evidence to that. The paparazzi will catch it soon enough. The more public wedding will be held next Wednesday - I hope you are aware that today is Thursday - and the one open to at least five hundred people will be in three months." Hope formed in Percy's mind, but his father caught sight of it and narrowed his eyes. Or maybe he didn't, but wanted to make sure their hopes didn't rise.

"Don't get your hopes up, either of you. The next two weddings will only be for the public, I hope you're aware. Your actual, official wedding, which is the one that actually counts, was yesterday."

Silence. Disappointment churned in that silence.

"Starting early Saturday morning, you two will start preparing. Flowers, dresses, suits, the decorations, and whatever else you need for a wedding." He waved his hand in dismissal. "You do have your own, personal, professional wedding organizer though, and she will meet up with either one of you - though preferably the both of you - anytime you'd like. There are two of them actually - it will make things go much more smoother. And faster. Everything needs to be done quickly and efficiently." He leaned back into the couch he was seated on, folding his hand behind his head, with a relaxed expression on his face.

"That should be - oh yes. The honeymoon. The consummating." Percy's nose crinkled. Consummate? What an old-fashioned word. And with her? The idea was very much appealing, though considering her personality, and his hatred for her -

"It will be for a month. I know how fast things have been going, as you two have just met yesterday, and learned about the whole ordeal the day before - " So she had learned about it two days ago as well? " - but the honeymoon will be taken slowly. Though I'm sure it will fly by in such a blur, because the both of you will report for duty in Los Angelos Black Wine headquarters in the first day, and continue on from there, and, I imagine, you will be quite busy at night as well." He winked, and both he and Annabeth stiffened, their shoulders knocking once again at the contact. Sparks whizzed down his spine like lightning, leaving him astonished for a moment.

"You don't need to be initiated to start that, because you will both start off with training on the first day of your honeymoon, and only after the initiation will the two of you be sent out for assignments and such. Percy, you're one of the more experienced fighters. Annabeth, I'm sure you know enough from your youth, but whatwith being a businesswoman, your skills must be rusty. You must be re-taught." From the corner of his eye, he caught an indignant expression form on his wife's face, and he jerked mentally in surprise. She had been trained in her youth?

"Any questions? I'm sure I've covered just about everything. What didn't I cover?" He mused out loud, his eyes searching the ceiling above them absentmindedly.

"Where will this honeymoon be?" Annabeth leaned forward imperceptibly, and Percy, suddenly remembering he had a hand on her thigh, took it away, but not before he brushed his hand against it at just the moment he took it away. She shuddered in the slightest beside him, he was proud to say.

"Fifty acres of land. A gorgeous mansion, near a beach, in Santa Cruz, somewhat nearby to one of the base facilities of the Black Wine."

"Where will our wedding take place?" She fired another question at him.

"In the nearest church we can find, though preferably a comfortable one as there will not be too many people."

"Will we be expected to wear our rings throughout?" He was surprised she hadn't gotten to the questions of her new secret life of being under the Mafia. The Black Wine, or so their cover name was.

"Definitely."

"Tell her what the Black Wine really is." His father pursed his lips. Annabeth shot him a controlled, questioning look.

"The Black Wine black market is connected to the Mafia - it may as well be part of he Mafia. The Black Wine are - I'm sorry, forgive me - is one of their cover names. Well, whichever word suits you, I suppose. There's one in Los Angelos and on in New York, though they both go by multiple names." He said no more.

"Why are we getting married? What does this - this marriage have to do with anything?" His father's expression smoothed, his face marble and still, and Percy leaned forward, having asked the question that hadn't been answered as of yet. It changed the topic quite abruptly as well, but it didn't seem like there was much time left.

"Both of you are of much value to both the Trident Industries, and the Athenian Owl Industries. You can say - " His lower lip curled into a sneer. " - that the two companies don't get along very well, and so much, to the point where our rivalry is getting into - " He searched for the right word. " - rather interesting measures. As a quick agreement, we decided that the owner of the Athenian Owl Industries - " His eyes flickered towards Annabeth. " - the real owner, not your father, Annabeth. The real owner and I made an agreement where we would give two of our children in marriage, to unite the two rivaling business corporations. I chose Percy here - " He gestured toward Percy, and Percy scowled, not liking to be reminded that his father had many other children, and that it was a miracle he hadn't caught some sexual disease from all the children he had brought unto the world. " - and your mother chose you, Miss Chase." Percy almost startled at the formal fashion his father had addressed Blondie.

"You have many children. And my mother - she must have other children, another family perhaps. So why us? Why me, and why your son? I have thi - I'm sure that there is another reason behind this. It was a marriage uncalled for, and me and your son here - we are quite specific people. He's joined the Mafia, and I've been trained to fight. I find that quite - quite suspicious." Percy stared sharply at his Father. Now that Annabeth had brought it up, it did sound quite suspicious. Why would the two children that could fight - well him, sure, but her? He didn't know how she did in a fight just yet - be matched together?

"I've told you, the both of you, Percy will be taking up the Trident Industries once I'm gone, and Annabeth works very close to her father's wing - she may very well be on her way to attaining the company itself should anything happen to Fredrick. Because of her closeness to the center of her company, and given Percy's own close position in the Trident Industries, putting the two of you together - it creates some sort of alliance, that can keep peace. For a short while, at least." His father grimaced.

"But that doesn't answer her original question." Percy said slowly. "What she meant was, what does our marriage have to do with the Mafia?"

"I can speak for myself, thank you very much, Perseus." She addressed him by his original name, and the word brought both shivers of pleasure that were uncalled for - _the way she said it,_ _though_ \- and annoyance. He didn't like it when people called him by that name, but the way she said it, it was -

"I never said you couldn't, _wife_." He almost called her ' _wifey_ ' again, but his father was here, and not all of his composure could be lost. Annabeth almost turned towards him to glare, but instead, turned back, and laid a simple hand on his thigh.

His body started warming up again.

"What does our marriage have to do with the Mafia, Poseidon?" Annabeth questioned innocently and viciously, her hand still settled on Percy's thigh. He dragged his eyes away from it, and glanced uneasily at his father. He was feeling even more disoriented, and now his supposed wife's touch was feeling sensual.

" I - there's something going on. Something that is endangering us. I - I'll be giving you my own assignment sometime soon, and Ill expect the both of you to carry it out smoothly." His father's green eyes settled on the pair of them, turning darker by the moment. As dark as a shadowed forest, with all it's greenery and splendor shrouded by darkness.

"And if we don't?" Annabeth questioned, her voice low, as if threatening him. Percy casually settled a hand on her hand, the one that was still resting on his thigh. He squeezed tightly, not at all a romantic gesture. Her fingernails - boy, were they sharp - dug into his thighs. It would do her no good to threaten his father. No good at all.

Poseidon leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper. "There will be consequences. Severe consequences."

For another few moments, all there was, was silence. Empty, echoing silence, one that held a threat _. Consequences. Severe consequences._ Out of the corner of his eye, Percy caught his wife forcing a polite smile on her face, though her grey eyes looked distressed. He could tell because of their close proximity.

"Who will be present at the wedding?" And just like that, the tension evaporated, sliced down by a knife, the knife being Annabeth's sweet, manipulative, poisonous voice. Annabeth's polite, charming voice. Her voice was so many things, it was aggravating.

"You. Your husband. Your family. His family." Percy stiffened, and Poseidon smiled darkly without looking at him. "The priest. Five friends of your own. That's all."

"Five friends combined, or five friends each?" Percy asked, hoping the answer was what he wanted it to be.

"Five friends combined." He almost grimaced. This would definitely result in a fight with him and his darling wife. He expected Annabeth to voice something strictly, at least say something against it, but to his surprise, her question - it was something completely different.

"Who is the priest? The one that announced us husband and wife yesterday?" Her voice held genuine curiosity, but it held a hint of confusion as well.

"Yes, that's him."He looked Annabeth queerly, his eyes holding something similar to pity. "Why would you like to know?"

"What is that man's name?" His father hesitated for a moment, but Percy could see it wasn't because there was a secret he was holding back, and didn't want to tell. There was something else going on here. He wasn't sure it had to do with their wedding anymore.

"Hermes. Hermes, er, Olympus. Owner of the Winged Sandal Corps. A family member." Of course. One of the twelve Olympians. He had already known that, of course. He knew almost every single one of them.

"Does he - have an, er, a son, perhaps?"

"I suppose he does. Hermes is also a licensed Priest, so he will be at the wedding. He is needed there." A not-so-subtle change of topic. Percy wondered why.

"Are we actually married?"Percy felt, that somewhere in Poseidon's talking, there had been something confirming that yes, they were now a married couple. But he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. He was actually married? Like, actually, _actually_ married?

"Yes, Percy, you're married. It's official. You've been registered as a married couple already, and all the work is complete, but the papers I gave you - all they need is for you two to sign them and read it over. And you two will have them read over thoroughly and signed before tomorrow night. There will be consequences if they aren't." He shot Percy a meaningful look, but he stared right back, unaffected.

Stupid father with his stupid threats.

"We understand, Poseidon. There is absolutely no reason to threaten us." Her hand dug deeper into his thighs, and he jerked. He had almost forgotten her hand was still on his thigh. But then her hand dropped - and he felt disappointed.

"I suppose we've covered just about everything. Am I right? We've covered yesterday, and today. We've covered the wedding preparations, the community center idea - which you will be going to in a while, and I'll know if either of you don't show up - and we've covered the wedding. The wedding next week, and the wedding in a couple of months? Did I mention that? We're having another more, public wedding in a couple of months?" He looked at them quizzically, and Percy felt annoyed. How many weddings were they supposed to have? They had the private one yesterday. They'd have a more public one next week. And then another one in a couple of months? How many weddings did they need?

"The third wedding is completely unnecessary. The public will find it much more believable if we had a private wedding just to ourselves - the one we'll be having next week, because it's small. We can give the idea that we'd like to keep things quiet, and whatever we come up with, it could support our story. That last wedding - it's not necessary at all." Annabeth said firmly, and he was almost grateful. But he should be speaking for himself, shouldn't he?

"I agree." There. He'd added his own piece.

Poseidon looked surprised, and unsure. His gaze switched between them.

"I suppose - but there will be many factors to consider. I'll have to mull it over, and so will the other people that are monitoring this marriage closely."

"Our marriage is being monitored? This house is being monitored?" Percy couldn't help it; a whiz of outrage slithered into his voice.

"I suppose you could call it something like that. But remember, I'm giving you an assignment of my own, once Annabeth has been initiated, and the both of you have been trained thoroughly. My associates - the other people - are part of this assignment. But the two of you play the lead roles."

Silence. Again, silence. So much _silence_.

And then: "Well, now that we've covered that part of it up - I've gone over the honeymoon, the assignments, the special assignments, and - that's about it. Am I right? Do either of you have any more questions you'd like to ask?"

Silence.

"Will we be living in this house before our honeymoon? And what about after the honeymoon? And also, the wedding. Normally, there are parties after the Wedding. Will these count?" Three consecutive questions. Annabeth was quite specific.

"Yes, you'll be living here for the rest of your marriages, actually. Together. Or, if you'll like, you can get a homier, more comfortable and cramped cottage. Or a summerhouse. Whatever suits the both of you, as long as you two stay and live together. After the honeymoon - well, I imagine things will be quite wild." Why? "But yes, wherever you're comfortable, and wherever it is safe. And the party after the Wedding - yes, I'm aware. If you'd like, the two of you can organize it, but I can't guarantee it will take place. I'm expecting something to happen, and I don't think you'll have the time for that party." Poseidon's voice was pleasant, and Percy wondered what he was expecting.

"I see. So we will have to be comfortable in this house, am I right? Familiarize ourselves with it?" Annabeth's tone was half mocking, half patronizing, and when Percy realized where she was going with her questions, he held back a snicker. But his father remained stupid.

"Yes, of course you will. You'll be living here, won't you?"

"Then when will we get our clothes? Our things? Our toiletries and such? We have many things back at home - " She shot Percy a sideways glance. " - at least, _I_ have many things back at home that I need. I can't be comfortable without all my things. I don't know about him." She jerked a finger toward Percy, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. At least he was able to keep his snickering in check.

"Ah. I see." His father looked uneasy now, one hand settling on his thigh, and the other moving back to scratch his neck.

"Well, erm, yes. Your things. I suppose I can hire a party of people to come and collect your things while you two go off to the conference house. Or, if you'd rather, you could get your own things, Annabeth. Percy, your things are still in your old apartment. But that would mean not going to the conference house."

"I prefer getting my own things, thank you. If you were to hire a party, how exactly would they know what to bring?" Annabeth raised a perfect eyebrow.

"I see. I suppose you can't do with the clothes you've found in each of your respective dressing rooms?"

"Clothes aren't all that matter." Percy was surprised that Annabeth could think that anything really mattered.

"I could give the each of you a total of thirty minutes to gather up your things, if I take you to your respective former homes. Then, I can drop you off to the community house, and I can unload your things."

"We would do perfectly fine bringing our own things in." Percy said coldly, because he had a feeling that Poseidon would not leave their things untouched.

"It depends on whether the house is closer to your former houses, or the community house is." Poseidon mused quietly, a slight smirk forming on his face.

"I see." Annabeth said slowly, her voice turning dark, and Percy felt that she was realizing why Poseidon should't be able to touch their things. Poseidon stood up, stretching, but both Percy and Annabeth stayed sitting.

"Oh, I almost forgot. There's a training room in basement one, and a few other entertainment products in basement two. The both of you could use it to your advantage.. Would you like me to show it to you? I didn't yesterday because I didn't feel it was the right time for you."

Silence. Percy wondered idly if Annabeth had known.

"It's fine. We'll find it by ourselves."

"Well, that's spectacular. It's - one in the afternoon. I'll come by to pick you up at two, and we'll continue the day's plans from there. And by the way, the both of you would do well to start making appointments for the wedding immediately. Are we clear?"

There was a dull chorus of "okay" and "yes" and "sure" from Percy and Annabeth.

"Excellent." Then, with a nod, he moved to walk out. "Oh, and before I forget, all these plans are very much susceptible to change." He quirked an eyebrow at them. They nodded at him numbly, before he walked out. Percy and Annabeth didn't even bother to show him the way.

* * *

 **"HEY BLONDIE! WHAT FLOWERS DO YOU WANT AT THE WEDDING?"** Percy yelled, holding a hand at the receiver, and turning away.

"My name is not _Blondie_ , you shitfaced pig!" She yelled back, her voice a mixture of poison and twinkling bells. He wondered idly if anyone had ever told her that her voice was like music. Musical.

"You stole my cellphone, you _two-faced bitch!"_

"That doesn't even make _sense_! Just because I took your cellphone does not mean I'm two-faced! You son of a bitch."

"I'm on the phone, Blondie! Gimme a name! What flowers do you want your wedding?"

No answer.

And then; " _Fuck_ you. You're _useless_ ," from behind him, breathing down his shirt, and the shivers came up again, before she tore his phone from his hand, and held it to her ear.

"Hello? I'm sorry, I'm afraid my boyfriend was prank-calling you." She said sweetly, and the word 'boyfriend' stood out to him. She abruptly ended the call, and tossed his phone back at him.

"I'm your husband. Not your boyfriend." He stated, staring at her. He noticed that her tight bun was looser than before, and multiple strands of honey-blonde hair had escaped their bun. Her grey eyes glared out at him from beneath her lashes, widening by the moment, and in that moment, she looked like a goddess. Percy found himself imprinting her image into his mind subconsciously.

"Was that for the flowers? What did you call for the flow - Who did you call for the flowers?" He threw his hands up in mock irritation, his phone still hanging from his right hand.

"I've been asking you what flowers you wanted for the past ten minutes! So yes, it was for the flowers. And I called a farm. A nearby farm." He realized, that maybe, he might have called the wrong place for flowers. The horrified look on his wife's face told him exactly that.

"And what was the name of this farm, pray tell?" His eyes fell to the floor, and he wondered faintly if he would start blushing, because his cheeks were starting to warm.

He also didn't answer.

"You don't know, do you?" She asked, her voice carefully controlled.

"I didn't think you cared much about the wedding," he stated dully, half because he wanted to change the topic, and half because he was kind of, sort of, curious. Her eyes narrowed.

"Of course I care for the wedding!' Now, it was her throwing her hands up in the air in mock irritation. "Weddings contain organizing and planning out different things, and I don't know if you're aware, but I do those things! The only part of this I don't like, is that it's my wedding, and it's you who I'm getting married to!"

"I see. I have a question." His mind wandered away for a moment, and came back with a memory - the memory of this morning. Her words barely registered.

Annabeth looked even more wary. "What do you want from me?"

"Why were we cuddling together this morning?" Her eyebrows rose higher than he had ever seen, and he himself was surprised with himself. Where did that come from? He had been listening to her and - hadn't they already discussed - oh. No, they hadn't finished discussing this.

"We weren't cuddling together. It was me being held against my will and - " She paused, and suddenly, an idea hit him. A prospect hit him.

"You were too weak to get me off you." He realized, wonder in his words.

Silence.

He carefully rearranged his words, caring to not look at her, realizing what effect they would have on her. He'd known her for two days and yet - this woman was both an open book and a closed book filled with mysteries. "You tried to move me away, but you couldn't, because despite having trained, you haven't for a while, and I was too strong for you." Come to think of it, that might have had hit her ego even more.

He looked up at her, finally, wondering if she would be murderous or silent, or quiet, or just plain emotionless -

\- and found her face looming inches away from his, emotion being hastily erased.

His breath hitched, and suddenly, he found himself totally and completely hypnotized by those mesmerizing grey orbs of hers. They were beautiful, and reminded him of silver. Gleaming silver. Sparkling silver. Silver orbs, gleaming with mischief. A slender finger fluttered near his face, and he took a step back, and then another, and found himself backing towards the wall. His stance reminded him of something - countless days and nights of cornering many dumbfounded and seductive women, like a predator does to a prey before coming in for the kill - but here, it wasn't him, like it had been many times before. It was her. But he found that he couldn't pull away - he didn't want to pull away, even though his conscience screamed at him to.

His back hit the wall, his green eyes wide and enthralled. The slender finger slowly lifted up, and caressed his cheek so lightly, it felt like a feather, but nevertheless, sent numerous shivers of pleasure down his spine. And then her face was looming inches away from his, just inches away, those grey eyes knowing and amused and seductive, and so, so alluring.

"You have so many questions for me, _husband_ ," She emphasized that last word, and Percy loved the way it rolled off her tongue. _Husband_.

"Let me ask you one."

"You are a gangster, are you not? A murderer? Then why is it - that I don't see that coldness in your face anymore? The coolness that I saw yesterday, when I first met you? Hmm? Now, it's stupidity, flirtatious comments, and so much more. But no coldness. No impassiveness. Why is that sweetheart?"

Every single one of her words echoed in his head, and he didn't know what to say. He searched for a smartass quip, but it was in vain, because he was being controlled by her and her dominant, sparkling, silver eyes. He couldn't move, and he couldn't think for himself. Hell, he couldn't even breathe.

But he did manage to utter one very smart word.

" _Um_..." His voice shook as he said it.

"Oh. I see how it is." Her eyes shone with mock amusement.

"Are you - _affected_ by this, Jackson?" Yes, hell yes, he did. He didn't know why; no other had been able to affect him as much as this, even the ones that he had loved, fallen in love with. This was different. She was different.

But he hated her.

"N-No. Of course not. No, hell no." She raised an eyebrow at his stuttering, and that long, pale finger of her's trailed toward his lips, and slowly, her finger agonizingly slow, trailed his lower lip, and his breath shook, and his body shook, and everything shook. A pale, solid hand fluttered around his waist, not quite touching him, but making his body fizz with electricity all the same. Her grey eyes gleamed with mischief, and a growing amusement.

"You're shaking, sweetheart. That tells me something else. Unless - are you scared of me?" Her lower lip pushed out in a mock pout - honestly, was everything she did meant to mock him? - and he felt his gaze drawn to her lips. His face started to burn, something he wasn't very used to until she had showed up.

He knew he should use her response against her, maybe turn this encounter to his advantage, but he couldn't move, and he couldn't breathe. Her touch had him electrified, shivering with desire and pleasure, and that made no sense whatsoever, because electrifying sparks were not a reality, unless it was lust, and he had just met her yesterday.

'Aw. I'm not going to get a response am I?" Her lower lip pushed out even more, and Percy couldn't look away.

"That's really too bad. I suppose me _touching_ you - " Her finger pressed down on his lower lip, " - really gives me no answer. I'll just have to try a different _technique_ next time." And then, before he got comprehend anything and everything, she was gone, an evil, but twinkling, musical laugh trailing behind her.

A long moment passed, and Percy found himself confused. His father had told him that she was a smart opponent - she knew her facts and ideas and opinions and everything she ever needed to know. She was a learned person, who would read a book for entertainment. A factual one. She was impassive, cold, very much like her mother, whom Percy had met on only one occasion, and she was so much more, but nothing good or bad. Neutral, more like.

But his father hadn't mentioned that she had some quite hot tricks up her sleeve, and she wasn't afraid to stretch them out to him. He hadn't mentioned that she was alluring, and seductive, and enthralling, and that her touch alone could bring a man to his knees.

Or maybe he was the only man that she had done this to, and had tried to bring to his knees. Which left the question - _why_? What had they been talking about before - _oh_. This morning. Them being cuddled up.

She had done that to avoid his question. So he had been right.

And that left a trail of disappointment and victory churning inside him. Though he had to admit, he had quite enjoyed that encounter.

So much so, that he might just have to take another cold shower.

Damned wife and her antics.

* * *

 **This was one long chapter. And how was that little encounter between Annabeth and Percy in the end? Do you think Percy will retaliate? Or rub his victory into her face smugly? Hmm. Who knows? Remember, this is unedited. Look out for editing mistakes. Misspelling, bad grammar, the whole lot. Chapter four has been the biggest, with roughly 6,900 words, and this chapter is about 6,700 words. Wow.**

 **And also, I think I might update every Sunday. It's a probably, so no guarantees. And thank you so much for all your kind reviews. They all make my day :D I really appreciate them :)**


	7. Of Being Civilized And Uncivilized

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

* * *

 **0 0 7**

 **OF BEING CIVILIZED AND UNCIVILIZED  
[ unedited ]  
[ 5.14.17]  
[ 8,480 words ]**

* * *

 **PERCY JUST COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. HE COULD NOT,** he would not **-** it was all the same thing, really. There was no difference to anything anymore - their relation all being that he was surprised by every single damn thing.

First, his father had come fifteen minutes early, when Percy had, admittedly, still been in that embarrassing stupor, staring into space, thinking about something he couldn't remember right now because what was happening in front of his eyes made it kind of hard to remember anything. His father had stared at him for lord-knew-how-long, before Percy's instincts had kicked in, and he realized that someone had been watching him. Then, he had watched quite stupidly as his father took note of his burning cheeks - had they still been burning? He would deny that he had been blushing in the first place anyway - and raised an eyebrow at him. Then, Annabeth had come into the room, all prepared and ready, and had politely talked to Poseidon, without uttering a word at Percy himself, or even sparing him a glance, whereas he stared at her, dumbfounded that she could be so casual after that encounter.

Afterwards, they had piled into his father's car - he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not about how he and Annabeth had sat separately - and had been dropped off at least ten minutes away from Annabeth's house - or so she had murmured under her breath - and nineteen minutes away from his own house - he couldn't tell whether they lived close or not, and he also didn't know why he was wondering about whether they lived close or not. That had nothing to do with nothing.

There were living together anyway, in the now. Why would they have to know about the other's former homes? Especially since Percy's former home had been hell.

So Percy had walked off towards his apartment - it was quite cozy, and didn't contain many of the luxuries that he was used to - and found that two of his former girlfriends - note the word ' _former_ ' - had somehow gotten in and were lounging here and there, one on his bed, lazily scanning her phone, and the other on his sofa, watching something scandalous on TV. The both of them had snapped to attention when he had come in, and he found that they had just been looking for a good time - he wasn't sure they knew what the term 'breaking up' meant, so he had found himself throwing them out - Annabeth entering his mind for a split second before he removed the thought away - which had gotten his poor, poor cheeks quite a few slap marks, and he was quite sure they were burning red again - this time from pain.

He couldn't understand girls sometimes. They had said they wanted to have a good time - and how did that equal a hearty slap when he rejected it?

And after that, he had packed all his things up, and had called for one of the people his father had hired to take his stuff - there had been a change of plans, apparently - gave them the address, waited till they had come, watched them take his things, warned them that not a thing was to be touched - he had made sure there was nothing dangerous there anyway; he didn't keep any of his weapons and whatnot in his apartment, so that was one worry gone.

And with the words, _two streets, and three left turns, one right turn, and then another left away from here,_ ringing in his head, he had gone back to the spot he and Annabeth had been dropped off in.

He had waited there for quite a long time - so long, in fact, that he had lost count. He had given up the practice of constantly checking on his phone to see how long had passed, when half an hour had gone by and then, he had just stood, looking out onto the streets, and at the cars whizzing by, as he waited stiffly for his wife to meet him where she was supposed to.

She came forty-seven minutes later - maybe he had sorta kept on keeping track of the time at some point - her hair swinging wildly behind her, her grey eyes flashing defiantly, but her gait slow and steady. It felt as if years had passed in the range of time it took from when Annabeth had first come into his view, and when she had reached him. He looked her down coldly, fixing the icy look on his face that he should have fixed from the start, and Annabeth surveyed him just as coolly.

"You're late," he had murmured quietly and icily, and she had raised an eyebrow, before turning to stand beside him and survey the street beside him.

"I wasn't aware there was a time limit to how long we could take," she had murmured back just as quietly. And since then, he had tuned she and her, and everything related to her, and the world itself out, putting himself into one of his episodes where he curled into himself and did not come out. When he was in one of his episodes, he acted like how a gangster was supposed to act like: brooding, cold, and impassive.

Nothing was in focus as he had absentmindedly led them towards where his father had directed him to take her: the empty alley. His father's directions rang blankly in his mind, but he didn't understand why exactly his father had him show Annabeth that place.

The area in question used to be a conference house - no, not a conference _room_ , but a conference _house_ \- but had been broken down years ago. The Jackson family had not owned it, but could make use of it whenever they had wanted. Percy remembered that much. So when he had led Annabeth and himself there - on foot, after having tracked the location on his phone - he had found an alley with two people.

An alley with two people that were heavily armed, in gear, and had murderous tints to their gazes, as they looked Annabeth up and down like a piece of meat they were about to consume, and then at Percy, disinterest flicking in their eyes. One of them had a shaved head, and bulging muscles - someone Percy could take down easily. Brutes like him - they focused on strength, and strength he - come to think of it, Percy might not be able to take him down that easily. The other man was clothed in black from head to toe, revealing none of himself, but his eyes. His eyes were pits, black, endless pits, where emptiness lay.

One of them drew a knife, a long knife, with a pointed edge. Subconsciously, Percy's left arm had shot out to grasp onto Annabeth's wrist, and his right hand started fumbling with himself, looking for something to fight back with. He had pasted a cool expression on his voice, but it had been too late - the strangers had already seen the panic. Percy's first priority was to keep Annabeth away from harm - and that would mean having to wrestle them both.

In his mind, Annabeth had been a damsel in distress, cowering, shaking, her grey eyes glowing. He didn't take it to be pathetic - though he did, slightly, because she was supposed to join the Mafia soon, and shouldn't she at least act? - but he waved that away, and focused, his mind thinking a mile a minute. But his thoughts on Annabeth did lower the slightest bit. Shouldn't she have been able to protect herself? Most women were weak, relying on men to save them - and Percy found himself thinking that Annabeth should not have been one of those women, but here she was, doing - was she shaking? He couldn't tell. The only hold on her he had was her wrist, and that was stable.

But they stood still in place.

The man with a shaved head - who turned out to be the one who had taken out that knife - took another step forward, his eyes focusing Annabeth, who was _his_ wife, not the bald man's. _He shouldn't have been able to look at her like that._

"What a pretty little cupcake you are," the man with the shaved head purred, and Percy found his fumbling becoming worse. He had nothing on himseld that could act as as weapon - _dammit_ , why wasn't there _any_ fucking weapon?

And that was when Percy was left gaping, slack-jawed, now in the present, when Annabeth shot into action, her left hand - the one Percy wasn't holding - drifting to her leg for a moment, before striking outright, a flash of a clothed arm and silver.

The next few moments were a blur. The knife did not move in slow action, and time did not slow - the tiny little knife that Annabeth had gotten from seemingly nowhere, with a wooden, carved hilt, was a blur in the air, and smacked right into those bulging muscles of the intruder, in his left arm, where his arteries were the biggest.

Tiny as it was, it seemed to be at least three or four inches tall, though not very thick. The knife was thrown with such force, and shocking precision, and Percy was sure it had hit at least a vein, or had at least severed an artery.

For a few moments, nothing happened. The bald man stared at the knife that had buried itself in his left arm, and did nothing about it. Blood spilled from the wound, the portions growing bigger and bigger as the moments passed. But the bald man - it seemed he was stupid as well. Instead of taking the knife out, which probably would have given him more time to survive, and doing something about the wound, he roared, and rushed towards Annabeth.

Annabeth took a defensive stance - in front of Percy, her right hand still in Percy's grasp. She shook it without looking at him, probably hoping to make him let go, but he held on tighter. He also didn't make her move away from the protective stance she was taking in front of him - he knew he was a lost cause at the moment, which was pathetic.

The man - the bald man, mind you - stopped running, for a moment, and took another step, his eyes focused on Annabeth. He stopped, and for a moment, it looked like he was listening to something, and he tilted his head, nodding. Then, he backtracked, nodded at the man in black - who had, so far, not done anything about anything - and without looking back, even once, they both ran away into the ever darkening horizon. They faded into the distance, and soon, it was just Annabeth and Percy himself, standing in the empty alley, Percy still holding on to her wrist.

Something wet hit his cheeks, and for a moment, Percy wondered whether he was crying, before looking up at the sky. The sky had darkened considerably, and had turned into a gloomy, lifeless day, the morning sunshine forgotten. A light drizzle had started, and now, raindrops splattered onto Percy's face as he angled his face back to Annabeth, who turned towards him.

Her own face was wet, but he knew that she wasn't crying. He didn't think she could cry. She was a strong woman - and his earlier thoughts of Annabeth and her weakness were forgotten. They stared at eachother.

"Where's you get that?" His voice shook, and he didn't try to cover it up. He didn't need to say 'knife' for her to figure out what she was talking about.

"I - he didn't take the knife out. His left arm has more arteries than his right arm, and if he doesn't take it out, he's going to die. From blood loss." Her voice had taken on a factual tone, one that suited her, but like him, her voice shook. Unlike him, she tried to hide it.

They stared at eachother for lord knew how long.

The rain started to take on a more vicious turn, and instead of drizzling, it was pouring now. Not buckets - not yet, but it seemed as if it would rain buckets soon. Percy noted quietly how Annabeth had not answered his question.

"Where'd you get the knife from, Chase?" His voice hardened, the shaking still there, and Annabeth, despite having gone through the last few moments, and having other things to think about, more pressing things to think about, raised an eyebrow at the new name he was talking to her by.

"I didn't know we were on such good terms enough to go by our last names." Her voice wobbled, her eyes turning impassive, keeping away emotion, hiding away emotion, and Percy had the urge to shake her. And shake her he did, still holding her by her wrist.

"Where'd you get the knife from, Chase?" Her face hardened, and her grey eyes turned stone cold. She wrenched her wrist from his grasp, and her left hand shot out to grasp the hand that had been shaking her. Her fingernails dug in, making tiny little crescents on his arm. Her head inched nearer to his.

"You can't threaten me, Jackson. You can't make me answer." Her eyes turned dangerous, much like how the clouds overhead were, and he sighed audibly.

"I just want to know where the knife came from."

"I took it from my leg. I had one buried there, behind my clothing."

"And who gave it to you?" He pressed on, leaning his own face a little bit towards hers. Her lips pressed together into a thin line, and her fingernails dug in even more. He winced, just barely, but didn't take his hand away from his grasp. He liked the human contact, a nice change from the cold rain pouring on them, though painful.

"Someone gave it to me, when I went to pack my things." She paused, and looked up at the sky. "We should go home. Call a taxi." She peered down the empty street.

Percy didn't mention that hey were supposed to have called his father, and told him to pick them up. He didn't mention his father at all. He had brought them here, at this very address. His goal was very much clear.

He didn't know where his answer came from; it just poured out, like the rain. "When we get home, we dry off, and we can discuss our cover story. We'll stay as late as we have to, but we will make the cover story tonight. We sign the papers tonight as well."

She stared at him, unblinking, unseeing. Then, she nodded, but slowly.

"This never happened." She said firmly. He leaned closer to her, until his nose was touching her's, and her eyes looked back at him steadily. If anyone was watching, they'd think that they were going for an embrace, but Annabeth knew otherwise. Nevertheless, the hitch in her breath did not go unnoticed, and Percy, staring into her grey orbs, couldn't help but stop breathing for a moment either. His eyes steady, he leaned closer until his lips just barely touched her cheek - her cheek, not her lips - and whispered, "The extent of what my father will do to make us do what he wants, will go much farther than that. Be careful around him, Chase." He leaned in a bit closer, his lips almost fully in contact with her cheek, giving the impression that they were embracing to outsiders, and they stayed like that for a few, long moments. Percy surprised himself by finding himself strangely content with this moment.

Melancholy swirled in his heart, and he let the ice come, to overtake it.

When they had stood together long enough, Annabeth moved. Her fingernails, still surprisingly digging into his hand, let go, and she pulled him to her side, before coiling her right hand around his left. The sparks came up again at her touch, and Percy couldn't tell whether it was the cold - or desire, in the middle of an alley.

They both silently stared out into the street, and when Percy found his thoughts too attracted to the feeling of her hand, he focused on taking his phone out of his pocket, and dialing one of his father's drivers.

After all, they weren't holding hands because they wanted to. They were holding hands, because his father was watching from somewhere, and someone else might have been watching from somewhere else, and they needed to put up a cover. Their hands were coiled together loosely, but not entwined.

Percy got the feeling that if their fingers were entwined, then their hand-holding would mean something entirely different. And he wasn't sure what to think of that. He also wasn't sure what to think of the slightly warm feeling he got when he thought about it. He also wasn't sure what to think of the tingles her hand gave him.

He wasn't sure about to what to think about anything anymore.

* * *

 **ONE OF HIS FATHER'S DRIVERS HAD TAKEN THEM HOME,** thankfully without asking any questions - Percy got the feeling that many of his father's drivers were used to getting calls in the most unlikeliest of places - and both Percy and Annabeth had taken long, hot showers, washing off the coldness the rain had left behind, the coldness of what had happened, and the feeling of physical contact from the other, before they both settled in the living room, sitting across from eachother. Percy inhabited the loveseat, his bare feet hanging from the arm, his head resting idly on the other, and Annabeth, across from him, was seated on the sofa that Posiedon had seated himself in the morning, her legs crisscrossed perfectly, her hair hanging in a perfectly made bun - Percy resisted the urge to sift his hands through them and get rid of the damned perfect bun - her grey eyes staring lifelessly at the TV, her gaze angled away from him.

They had settled in, one after the other, and to avoid any awkwardness - or maybe she just wanted to - Annabeth had turned on the TV.

The reporter was droning on dully about the weather, and Percy watched, propping his head on his arm on the arm of the chair, as Annabeth changed the channel, again and again and again, nothing interesting enough for her.

She stopped at a slightly grizzly picture of them coming out of the Olive Garden, rain pounding on their faces, their arms hooked together - his father had insisted - their faces leaning close, their mouths opened, giving the impression that they had been talking.

They hadn't been talking. They had been pretending to talk.

Poseidon and Fredrick were nowhere to be seen, but Percy was sure they had been just a few yards in front of them. The picture was taken from the side, but it was hard to tell what was happening exactly, whatwith the rain pouring around them. But Annabeth's blonde hair, pulled back, revealing those high cheekbones were not to be mistaken, and Percy himself, with his black hair and chiseled self, was not to be mistaken either.

They'd been caught already, and it was only - how long had it been since they had met? Percy counted out the days. He had found out on Tuesday, the twenty-fourth of April - it still seemed like it was yesterday, which wasn't very far from the truth really. They had been wed on Wednesday, the twenty-fifth, and now - now it was Thursday, the twenty sixth. Oh. So it was their second day together now. They were caught, and it was just their second day together.

"That was quite early, and quite unexpected. Question: why weren't we wearing raincoats?" Percy drawled quietly, still staring at the picture of them together, somewhat mesmerized by the grainy picture.

"It was bound to happen sometime, Jackson." Her voice was quiet, and shooting a sideways look at her, he found her staring at the screen, her eyes dull. Hopeless.

"And the raincoats?"

"I don't know." He was surprised to hear that she seemed angry. "Why weren't you wearing a raincoat?"

"You tell me, baby." He flashed her an unconvincing smile, his thoughts moving into another path. "Another question: how did they get such a clear picture when it was raining -" She shot him an unimpressed look here. " - and when it was so dark? It was late at night when we came back."

"It was just a few hours after evening, Jackson."

"All the same."

"How am _I_ supposed to know?" Her voice rose, and he pulled himself up, sitting upright, surprised. Instinct told him to defend himself, because a loud voice meant something bad was coming, but he refused to be pathetic. He had been pathetic and weak enough for a day.

"I was just making conversation, _Chase_." He wanted to use the term ' _blondie_ '. It would diffuse some of the tension swirling in the air, and he knew it. But he wanted to keep on fighting, and somehow, the fact that he had been weak, had been pathetic, increased that anger swirling in him, making it grow bigger and bigger by the moment, a bomb about to explode.

It was _her_ fault. It was _all_ _her_ _fault_. He had been _pathetic_ and _weak_ - _minded_ , and weak in general and he hadn't even been able to _defend_ himself and why the _fuck_ didn't he _just_ \- _just_ go on and fight the man hand-to-hand? He knew he wasn't skinny and _shit_ ; he was _muscular_ and had been _training_ for _years_ and _years_ , yet he had been the one standing behind her like a _weak_ , _pathetic_ , _coward_ unable to do _anything_ , not wanting to do _anything_ , and he could've _fought_ , he could've _fought hand-to-hand,_ but he didn't, and he could've used his body to fight but he _didn't_ , and it was _all her fucking fault._

"Well, you're attempts at making conversation are not _appreciated_ , _Jackson_!" Her voice rang out, clear as day, hard as rock, and his anger - his anger at her and himself and everything - shot up a notch.

"I don't give a _fuck_ if they weren't appreciated, _Chase_!" This wasn't like him. This wasn't like him at all. To pick a fight with a girl, and to raise his voice - this wasn't like him at all. But it was her fault, it was all her fucking fault and - and -

"I don't _care_ if you don't give a fuck! You know what I _do_ care about?" Her body tensed, a predator coiling into himself, just about to leap, and Percy stiffened, his body preparing for a fight.

"No, no I don't give a _damn_ about what you - "

"Why didn't you fight, you _coward_? Why didn't you fight?" He had been asking himself the same goddamn question for lord-knew-how-long. Why hadn't he fought? Why hadn't he fought and why had he been so weak and such a fucking coward?

"I thought we weren't going to talk about - about this. I thought we weren't going to mention this ever again." She scowled back at him, and he felt heat overtake his face. He wasn't blushing, and he wasn't in pain - he was angry. He needed to cool off steam.

'Well, you thought wrong, didn't - "

"I did, didn't I? And why do you care about this, Chase? Who do you care about this at all? Why are you even mentioning this? What, did you want me to be your knight in shining armor? Save you from the bad, bad villain? What are you, a pathetic, weak, cowardly woman? Scared, like the fucking pathetic person you are, because there wasn't man to save you?" His voice lowered, turning dangerous. "Did you need someone to save you, Chase? Did you think that the dashing, enigmatic Perseus Jackson would save you? And were you - oh, maybe, disappointed? Because you had to save yourself, and the man who was supposed to save you and - "

"No you fucking bastard, you're so fucking full of yourself!" She stood up now, heaving, her grey eyes flashing viciously, her lips pulled into a frightfully straight line. "My problem isn't that you couldn't save me, I am not pathetic. I can save myself perfectly fine! I don't need a damned knight in shining armor, and I most definitely do not - " He shot up from his seat, and opened his mouth to shout back at her, but her voice raised, her grey eyes gleaming with anger. " - do not! I most definitely do not need you, you sick bastard. You're so fucking full of yourself. So full. And if you ever paint me - _me_ , as a weak, pathetic type of woman - you're being sexist right there, let me tell you, your're so full of yourself that you're being sexist and no fucking woman is weak, and whatever you do, you cannot paint me as the weak person, because I am not the weak person, Jackson, and you shouldn't be either!"

"I'm not - "

"No. No, shut up. Listen to me. My problem isn't that you couldn't save me, my problem is that I can't save you. You've been in this organization, killing people - " He flinched, and she didn't stop. " - yeah, killing people, I know Jackson, but then you're encountered by two men whom you easily could have fought, but you stood still, because you panicked, and didn't do anything about it. I don't know whether it was fear or panic or whatever, but I can't save you every time we're encountered by something like this! You kill people for a fucking living, so why couldn't you fight today? You showed them weakness, and whatever the hell is after us knows that you showed some weakness, and that's not acceptable, Jackson, it's not!"

"What are you getting at?" He toned his anger down, and it lowered more and more by the moment. The fact that she wasn't disappointed by the fact that he hadn't been able to save her, somehow helped his greatly, and he didn't want to know why. "First you say that you can't save me, and then you say that I showed weakness, and I don't know what you're getting at!" His voice rose at the last word.

She stared at him calculatingly, the anger toning down somewhat, and it unnerved him, how it seemed like she was stripping him of every single last barrier, every single last brick wall, finding his weak spots, his weaknesses, and -

"Oh." Her grey eyes met his own eyes directly. "Oh. You're disappointed in yourself, and you're taking it out on me."

He didn't say anything. Her statement just seemed so right, and it hit him right where it hurt, because he realized that it was the truth. He was disappointed in himself.

"I - I guess." For a moment, his anger was let down, revealing a completely open, vulnerable face, and Annabeth saw it, and confusion flickered in her eyes, but by the next moment, Percy had his composure put back in place.

For some reason, when Percy looked up to figure out Annabeth's expression, she looked at him with - with admiration? Whatever she was thinking, she didn't say it out loud, and she didn't offer him any comfort, and he was somewhat glad about that.

Annabeth sat down back into the sofa, leaning back, her body still tense. Percy himself sat back into his seat, this time, his arms resting on the arms of the loveseat, his head leaning back.

A few moments of quiet followed, as they both took control of themselves once more. When Percy completely relaxed, and made sure every single last ounce of anger was gone, replaced by coolness, he looked up at Annabeth, to find her silently staring at the TV screen. He had almost forgotten it was still on.

"What time is it?" Her eyes flickered up, focusing on the golden clock ticking above the TV - there was a clock? He hadn't exactly examined the living room thoroughly - and she turned towards him. " It's six in the evening."

"Wow. That - time flies." She smiled wryly.

"Considering what we went through today, it's expected." "We went through alot today. Including - " He raised his eyebrows suggestively. " - our first fight." His voice was mocking, sounding horrified.

"Hmm." She was watching him, a queer sort of interest flickering in her eyes. "I suppose. You're full of surprises, Jackson."

"Is this where we decide to at least be, I don't know, civilized towards eachother?" She raised an eyebrow, her grey eyes gleaming once again, this time with mischief.

"Nah. I still hate you."

"That is great news. I have an uncivilized wife now." An emotion overtook her face, and he realized something. They weren't officially married. There were still those wretched papers.

"Almost. Almost there, my dearest, uncivilized husband."

"You sound civilized. That isn't possible." He almost cracked a smile at her at his own words.

"Oh, who would've known? I can be civilized!"

"Oh me, you can?" She snorted.

"Don't even, Jackson. You sound horrible. And stop bantering with me. Remember? _I hate you_." She emphasized those last three words, and Percy didn't doubt the truth of those words.

"Oh, I know. I'm quite aware. And the feeling is mutual, _I assure you_." He emphasized _those_ last three words with a flourish. "Now, I'm going to go wash off, and do me a favor and get those goddamned papers, will you?" He stood up, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She scowled at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Okay. Okay, make yourself comfortable. I'll go wash myself off and get those papers. Is there anything you'd like me to get you, my _dearest_ wife?"

"Your head on a platter, please. And a drink, if you will." She answered him mockingly.

"But I won't. Guess you won't get a drink then, Blondie." He started out of the living room, and he heard her call, "Get me a drink, you asshole."

"Lazyass." He murmured under his breath.

"I heard that!"

And as he rinsed his face, and got rid of the heat, he wondered what this - this _bantering_ , this playful _bantering_ between himself and Annabeth meant. It meant nothing good, certainly. This was their second night as a married couple. Things were going too fast.

 _I hate her. I hate her._ It was a repeated mantra in his head. _I hate her._

There would be nothing between them except hate, and both of them would make sure of that. There could be nothing else. There was no space for anything else. With the life they lived, and with the life they would live after their public wedding, there was no space for anything except hate. There never would be space for anything except hate.

 _I hate her._

And that was all there was to it.

* * *

 **HE SETTLED HIMSELF ON THE OTHER END OF THE SOFA** she was seated on, and settled the papers between them, like a barrier. He supposed it could be considered a barrier - whatwith it being the only thing that kept them from being officially, completely, utterly married. Annabeth picked them up, and sifted through them, her grey eyes scanning them alertly and attentively.

"What I don't understand is that, if our marriage licenses have already been official, then why do we need these papers? What, does your father expect us to sign these unknowingly, without being none the wiser?" He shrugged indifferently.

"The marriage certificate?" She glared up at him, as if he was spouting pure stupidity, but looked thoughtful.

"Maybe. I've never really delved deep into the subject of marriage. A marriage certificate is needed, and so is a licence. We already have the - do we get to see it? It's important that we..." She rambled on, and Percy stared at her as she talked. Her blonde hair was still wet from the shower she had taken, and was strewn all over, but it still glowed. Even in it's wet state, Percy resisted the urge to run his hands through them. He remembered waking up in the morning with those strands tickling him, and her soft, soft skin -

"Jackson." She barked. He smirked at her.

"Blondie. Chase. I've come up with so many nicknames for you. And the only thing you can come up with is my last name, and the ever-so-often curse words." She stared at him for a long moment,

"First of all, those are only two names. What do you mean by, and I quote 'so many nicknames?' Second of all, what am I talking about, and what are you talking about?"

"Potatoes and potahtoes."

"Focus, Jackson!" He waved his hand in the air in dismissal.

"I'll pass." Her mouth stretched out into a thin line.

"That wasn't a suggestion up for the taking. That was a command."

"You're reading it. Isn't that enough?" She raised an eyebrow. Percy noted that she raised her eyebrows very often.

"How sweet. Are you saying that you trust me?" He'd never thought of that, dammit. Grumbling, he snatched a piece of paper from her hands, and somehow ended up touching her pinky. Sparks flew, and Percy's gaze clashed with Annabeth's.

For a moment, all there was, was those grey, silver, charming grey eyes, and then those - and those flashing grey eyes that were tearing away from his. Percy kept his gaze on hers for a moment, before looking away. He was being very vulnerable today, he realized. And it was all because of this - this blondie, right here.

"Am I, sweetheart?"

"Really, Jackson? Really?" Her eyebrows drew together, and her forehead wrinkled, giving him the impression that she was either confused or surprised. He went for her being confused, because her being surprised - nah, it didn't really go.

"Yes, really." He winked at her.

"Stop avoiding the subject." She glared at him.

"Who says I'm avoiding the subject?" He settled the piece of paper he had taken from her on his crossed legs, and then crossed his arms underneath his head lazily, stretching, and for a moment, her gaze dragged down to his chest. It was a minuscule action, and considering that he didn't really note the tiniest of things down unless he was encountering a potential threat, finding that very minuscule action was quite the accomplishment. So when she looked back up at him, she was met with a shit-eating grin.

"Are you checking me out, Chase?"She sighed, and put the papers in her hand down, before putting her face in her hands. He peered in between her fingers, but her eyes were closed, and her face was like stone, and it was hard to tell what she was feeling. At least he could rule out crying.

"Chase?"

Silence.

"Should I take that as a yes then?"

More silence.

" _Chaseeeee_."

He realized that he hated it when she was silent.

"Oh _wifeyyyy.."_ As quick as a panther that had pounced after a few quiet moments of being a solid rock, she moved, and in a flash, she was on him, knocking him down, her grey eyes flashing with irritation. She locked one leg in between his legs, and she settled herself almost comfortably on his chest, propping one hand on his shoulder, and settling her chin on the palm of that hand. His shoulder started to hurt, and he stared at her, wondering if she was going to seduce him into being serious. She ran one hand over the top half of his shirt, and stopped right where his shirt touched his bare skin, her middle finger - oh what a surprise - poised over his bare skin, which started to heat uncomfortably. His breath hitched.

"Wifey my ass. Either you listen to me and pay attention, because I'm exhausted already, and it's only evening, or I'm going to stay here for as long as it fucking takes, and I know it's going to have some affect on you because - " Her leg nudged something that was very much in the motion of standing proudly in his southern region, and for the thousandth time that day, Percy felt his face heat up.

He was never like this with other women. Why did it have to be _her_?

Her face loomed a few inches away from his - a few more inches away than he would have liked - and he groaned out. On top of him, Annabeth smirked.

"This is only our second day as a married couple. You're so intimate." He managed to say hoarsely, because his member down there was getting a little too excited when it really, really shouldn't have been, and he had half a mind to get mad at it.

"Honestly, I'd keep my distance, but you never fucking listen, husband."

"You curse alot, wif - " He grunted as her leg nudged his southern region even more. "Okay, okay! I'll listen, I'll listen. Just get off of me, _please_."

"You'll do what, exactly?"

"I'll - I'll um, listen to you. And um, I won't get off topic. And I won't, um, distract you. Whatever you - whatever you _want_ , _okay_?"

A pause. And then, "Should I? My foot is becoming rather stiff, and I don't like to - " He cut her off viciously. "Please, Chase, please!" He could feel her smirk grow larger, just like her ego.

"Fine. You're lucky that I'm not in a cruel mood." And then, oh the pleasure, the pleasure, she got off of him. There was also the slight fact that her foot seemed to rub him where the sun doesn't shine once again, and he was just barely able to compress a groan.

When he was finally able to get up again, which was a few long moments later, he found his wife's smug face looking at him victoriously, a pile of papers in her hand.

"I've already signed my share of half the papers. You sign these while I sign the other half, and print out whatever needs to be written, and then when I'm done and you're done, you can sign the second half while I look over at the things you've written. Make sure everything's done nice and neat." He took it with a hurt pride.

"I hate you." He grumbled, as he looked through the papers glumly.

"I hate you too." She said cheerfully. Well, as cheerfully as someone rock-hard like her could.

He scanned the papers.

 _"Please state the name of the respective spouses, the sex of each respective spouse, and date of birth of each respective spouse, the blood type of each respective spouse, if the couple has any children, the type of marriage, the duration of this union, and etc. You are expected to answer any additional question or information stated below. Please sign your names at the end of each paper, where it is marked 'signature'. Thank you for your cooperation."_

"Gimme a pen." He said glumly. Annabeth held out a pen with a raised eyebrow - again?

"Are you telling me what to do?" She demanded, and he looked at her with whatever pride he could conjure.

"One of these days, I am so going to get back at you for giving me all these problems to deal with."

"Which problems?" She asked, amused.

"Would you like me to be more specific? As in, you know, my - "

"Stop whining and go back to work."

"I'm not whining."

"Do your work!"

"I am doing my work. You're the one who's distracting me, and talking to me."

"Would you like another problem, when the previous one hasn't been solved yet?"

He promptly felt silent.

* * *

 **EVEN AFTER HE FINISHED SIGNING EVERY SINGLE** last paper, his beloved wife had him go over the print in every single piece of paper, until his eyes drooped, and his vision became even more blurry. His dyslexia was getting even worse, whatwith the hours upon hours of reading small print. Or had it been hours? He really couldn't tell, and he didn't have the energy to turn around and figure out what time the clock read.

Damned dyslexia, damned wife, damned papers, damned everything.

When she finally gave him the pleasure of taking a break, it was exactly 7:58 in the evening. Almost completely nighttime. He yawned loudly.

"Well, that's about it. Every single sheet of paper has been gone through thoroughly, and every single piece of paper has been signed where it needs to be signed." There was a silence. Percy looked up to see Annabeth staring at the pile of papers; staring at them, but not quite seeing them. Her gaze looked distant. He wondered what had happened to her, when her words hit him: _it was all done._

"We're officially married."

"Yeah." Silence settled over the room. She stared at the papers, and he stared at the papers. _There_. It was done now. They had signed every last paper, and that meant that they were married now. Completely. Officially.

He almost couldn't believe it. It was done. They were married now. Completely, utterly, the whole lot. They just needed to get their own respective marriage licenses - did his father have them, or did the state? - take a look at their certificates, and _bam_. It was the end to any doubt they could have had about being married. They were married in every single way possible, besides their hearts, their souls, and the consummation of their marriage. It would probably come soon - the sparks told him as much - but it hadn't come yet, and that was that. As for the heart and soul - he just had to hope. Hope that they didn't, erm, fall in - _no_. He'd just have to hope _they didn't get involved romantically_. That would fuck every single last thing up.

"Guess it's time to call it a day, Chase." He bent and stretched his fingers, and cracked his knuckles.

"Yeah, I gue - wait. Have our clothes and things been brought?" Percy grimaced.

"Yeah. Everything's in our room. As in everything."

"And how exactly do you - "

"I went up to get the papers. As for how it got there, do you even have to ask?" He asked bad-naturedly, and she shook her head.

"I'm just asking." He was surprised that she hadn't answered just as rudely as he had, and for a moment, he almost felt guilty. He shook his head without looking at her, and got up, and made his way out the room, and up the stairs.

As he went up, his mind whirled, and for one moment, the thought that Annabeth had told him that he couldn't sleep on the bed anymore entered his mind. He ignored it. He would sleep on the bed, and she could sleep wherever. He wasn't in the mood.

Once he got there, he didn't give the suitcases strewn around another glance, before making his way to one of his own; a small, blue suitcase. He tossed his phone onto his nightstand carelessly, dug out his bamboo sleep pants - they could be considered pajamas, he supposed - tore off his shirt, making sure to not tear it or make a mark, and put those pants on.

As he settled into the comforters in bed, pulling the covers up to his neck, turning away from Blondie's side of the bed, he heard Annabeth heading upstairs. Without looking towards the door, he fumbled with his phone, setting up the alarm for what time he would wake up. He heard the door open, and he heard the soft footsteps stop.

"I thought I'd told you that you couldn't sleep here tonight." She said, though her voice sounded both cold and far away. Almost absent-minded, like she was deep in thought.

"I don't feel like getting up." He said, just as coldly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she leaned against the door frame, her gaze focusing.

"You know there are many other bedrooms, right? This is just the master bedroom. There are rooms for guests and other people. You could take one of those." He knew that. He just preferred here - with human contact. When he was alone, life was hell. Everything as hell. Everything was quiet and lonely, and there, _things_ would come back to him.

"The rooms are empty," was the only thing he could think of saying. It didn't make sense; of course the other bedrooms were empty. Why wouldn't they be? But he couldn't think of anything else to say as an explanation to why he wanted to stay here - with human contact. Sure, she might leave but he doubted she would. He couldn't explain himself - he had been weak and vulnerable enough today more than he should have been in a whole lifetime.

"I see." He almost wondered whether she had lost it, because in the little time he had known her, she was never this understanding, but then came, "Gather up your act, Jackson. Just this once." She was letting him go, without a proper explanation. He got the slight feeling that she might have understood, that she could have understood, but he pushed it away.

"I don't have an act to gather up. Goodnight." Whatever she might have answered, or whether she had answered at all, he didn't know. He closed his eyes, and he closed his mind to the world. His body was cold, despite the comforter, but it wasn't because he was cold physically. His mind was retreating - and retreating - and he couldn't sleep feeling this cold and strangely empty, and - and some time later, he felt a warm, clothed body settle next to his. There was so much space, and she was quite the distance away from him, and he wanted, he needed a little bit more of that warmth.

Without opening his eyes, or making any sound of any sort, he turned around, pulled himself closer to that _warm body that had no name in his mind,_ and settled himself against it. The body tensed, and he reached out, and held on to some part of it, and when it moved again, he held on even tighter, knowing that nothing could hurt her, so his grasp couldn't hurt her. It was tight, and yet, at the same time, it was loose, and if she wished, she could have moved away.

She didn't. And whatever the reason was - Percy didn't care enough to ask. He just needed warmth.

"Isn't it too early in this relationship to cuddle?" A surprisingly soft, teasing voice asked out into the darkness - it was getting rapidly dark outside, and the lights hadn't been turned on any time of the day - but he stayed quiet. He didn't know what to say. He needed warmth, and that was all there was to it.

"You could've asked." She tried yet again, and he didn't know what she was getting at. What was she trying to do, elicit some sort of response from him? He stayed quiet, though he wanted to say, _you would've said no and laughed in my face._

Finally, she just went with a simple "Goodnight, asshole," before saying no more. A few moments later, he simply said, "Goodnight, blondie," into her luscious blonde hair. He swore he could feel her smirk against him.

* * *

 **This is long enough as it it. Wow, at least 8,ooo. That's well, something. I almost didn't update today, because this was left alone until Friday, where I touched up on it again, and finished it. I'd actually added something before the wedding, and almost the wedding itself, but there were a few holes in that, so I moved them to Chapter Eight. Which means I've started that chapter already.**

 **Considering that this is very, very long, I'm going to keep this Author's Note short. I hope you guys liked this chapter, and thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows I've been given. I truly appreciate every single one of them, and I also see every single one of them. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your day :)**

 **As for the grammatical mistakes in this chapter, I only went through with the words that had a red line underneath them. see any mistakes? tell me, whether it's PMing me or a review. I'll go over this at some point, along with the rest of the story when I can.**


	8. That's Quite The Romantic Story

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **0 0 8**

 **THAT'S QUITE THE ROMANTIC STORY  
** **[ unedited ]  
[ 5.21.17]  
[ 9,146 words ] **

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**"THERE ARE THREE THINGS I'D LIKE TO DISCUSS** before we start talking over our cover for this marriage," Annabeth said the next morning, her voice presumptuous and factual, as if they were discussing business matters.

"And what, pray tell, are those - " Percy started dramatically, though the weariness mixed in was not to be mistaken. He hadn't had enough sleep because Annabeth woke up earlier than average people, and had woken him up in the process of getting up, trying to unwind herself from him. He hadn't been able to sleep since, the morning air drifting in through the open windows - he supposed either Annabeth had opened them, or his father had broken in one way or the other - and making him shiver.

Unlike the past two days, it was refreshing and breezy outside. The sky was as blue as the clear color of a pond, sparkling with light, and there wasn't a cloud to be seen. It was as clear as glass, and so beautiful, that it's beauty almost reached abnormality. Not a single inch of imperfection lingered. Percy couldn't see the sun, because he had only looked out the window to inspect what type of weather it was, and to swear at it for ruining his sleep after Annabeth had woken up, but he suspected that the light streaming from the sun was just as abnormally perfect as the sky - the glistening of the kitchen counter, where the light followed in from a nearby window, told him as much.

"First thing is first: the most distant topic. It's supposedly unrelated to our wedding but - "

"What is it, Chase?" She threw him an ugly look from across the table, her grey eyes flashing. For one breathtaking moment, the light cascading in from the window illuminated her face, and her hair flew up in the slight breeze from the open window, her blonde hair breezing just slightly past her ears, creating some sort of halo - and her grey eyes, in the light, really did look silver, like a sparkling, metal blade gleaming in the sunlight. She looked like a goddess, a goddess on figurative fire with metal, alluring eyes in that single moment.

Percy looked away, wondering curiously why he was in such a poetic mood this fine morning.

"How do I phrase this?" She looked down at her mug of coffee, her grey eyes growing absentminded once again, as she subconsciously - or so he thought - folded her legs on the swivel chair she was seated on - Percy wondered vaguely why there was a swivel chair in the kitchen, of all places, and why he hadn't gotten to sit on it - moving around, as if uncomfortable.

This was followed by the realization that whatever she wanted to 'phrase' was most likely something she wasn't comfortable with, which took him by surprise. There weren't many things that many Annabeth freaking Chase - Chase?

"Wait." He paused, his hand curling around his mug of coffee - he had made some for himself using a noticeably empty and recently used modern coffee maker that had been set out when he had stepped into the kitchen - whereas Annabeth had already been seated, a mug of her own coffee in her hand.

Her grey eyes flickered up to meet his own eyes, and suddenly, they were brightly sparkling silver once again, the sunlight hitting her face at just the right angle. He found himself at a loss for words for a single moment, mesmerized, before finding himself once again.

"Before you start with the questions - " She shot him an indignant look, flicking piece of blonde hair back behind her shoulder. " - your last name. Is it going to stay 'Chase' or are you going to change it to - to erm, my last name?" he found himself unable to say his own last name for some inexplicable reason.

She looked at him studiously, her grey - no, silver - eyes critical, and he got the faint idea that she was rolling it over, mulling over some sort of idea in that wise brain of her's.

 _Wise brain of her's._ Hmm. It suited her.

He was surprised that she hadn't fired off at him at the first mention of changing her last name, because he knew she was independent sort of person, wise and sexy and fierce and - and then he noticed how her long fingers were clenched around her own mug of coffee, and he figured - _oh will you look at that? She does mind after all._

"We'd have to give in our marriage license - with the change in last names. We'd have to change our Social Security Cards - to change the names. We'd have to change our licenses - for the last names. And - dear god, we'd have to change our bank accounts - and all for our last names. We'd have to make many phone calls - including our jobs, the post office, the doctors', it's going to take alot of effort, and I'm not exactly sure I want it in the first place." He nearly choked on his coffee in order to not interrupt her very long answer.

"First of all, what you mean by 'we'? It's you who's changing your last name, isn't it?" He knew exactly what she meant when she said 'we', yet he couldn't believe it. She'd make him go through that too, with her? "And we could always leave it to my father to - "

"You think I'm going to trust your father with all my personal information?" She forced down a swallow, as if keeping herself from choking.

"Our respective fathers then. Jeez. And it's not so important that we have to do it right - "

"We're going to need it for publicity, I hope you're aware. And for whatever else we're going to have to fill out."

"What would we - " She interrupted him again, _the nerve of the woman,_ setting her mug down, and stabilizing her left arm on the table, folding it, and propping her chin on it.

"Chase - Jackson." He'd dreaded this. He'd dreaded this, he'd dreaded this, he'd dreaded this, he knew this was coming, that she would -

"What about Jackson-Chase, sweetheart?" He went for trying to sound sweet; instead it came out pleading and too lovey-dovey. She shot him a strange look.

"Hell no. Chase-Jackson."

"Come on, Jackson-Chase doesn't sound - "

"It's Chase-Jackson, and that's final."

"I don't like it." She snorted.

"If you don't like it, you can either sleep on the sofa or one of the guest bedrooms ton - "

"I like it. I love it. I've never heard of a better last name, sweetheart." She snickered loudly.

"You're so easy to bribe."

"That's not exactly considered bribing."

"You're so easily swayed, is what I mean. I don't think you've gone against a single thing I've said as of far, when I've threatened you. It's almost as if you're gullible." She lifted her chin up from it's position, and her mouth turned down, and she said the word as if it was garbage; as if she didn't like it. "You shouldn't be so innocent, you know that? If, say, someone were to threaten you with - " She paused, and he thought that she probably realized she didn't know what he liked. " - having something precious taken away from you, would you give in, just like that? From what your father has told me, you have a high status in the Mafia." So this was where she had been headed. Is that what she'd wanted to talk about before he'd interrupted with the last name thing?

"Are you growing soft on me, Chase? It's only what, our third day?" He smirked at her to cover up his inner turmoil. What the real answer to her question would be was that the Perseus Jackson she had been living with the past two days was most definitely not the real Percy Jackson,

But who was the real Percy Jackson? Around girls, he was flirtatious and cocky, and always looking for a one-night-stand. That wasn't how it was with her. With his guy friends, he was cool and composed, and was friendly. With the Mafia - well, that was a completely different story. Neither of these suited how he acted with Annabeth.

Come to think of it, it was somewhat close to how he acted with his mother - and the past two women he had ever loved. But how he acted with Annabeth - it wasn't, it hadn't been the way he had acted with them.

It had been three days. Three fucking days.

He really was easily swayed.

He watched as the expression in her eyes dropped - and felt a sick kind of relief. "Anyways, I don't need you to tell me how to live my life." Then, after a short pause, some words he definitely hadn't meant to come out, just, came out. "The way I act with you isn't the same way I act with everyone else." He sucked in a quick breath, wondering if he had said too much. He himself didn't know what he was saying.

He expected her to be surprised, to be smug, or something related. Instead, a flash of understanding, of a revelation of sorts flitted through her face, her eyes, her expression.

And then, as if they hadn't been talking about that thing in the very first place, she said, "So, the first thing I was wondering about? It was about our relationship." He could feel his eyebrows going all he way up, At the back of his mind, he wondered idly if it could go past his hairline. She went on, not giving him the chance to answer.

"Not the kind of relationship we have, or will maintain. Nothing like that." A pause. 'What I mean is, will we be, erm, going on with our own respective relationships in our own time?"

His first thought was that it was unlikely. With her in the picture, he wouldn't be able to carry on any other relationship. And also, he'd feel weird about it, for some inexplicable reason. But she probably would. She might want to,

Averting his gaze to the sunlight flitting in through the window, he said, "To keep our public image, we're going to have to keep a stable image. You know the media will be asking and digging for information. I'm surprised we haven't been interviewed already." She was quiet. Looking back towards her, he found her staring at the table, her expression indescribable.

He mulled over his words. "What would you like to do?" He removed any sort of emotion from his voice, because suddenly, the thought of her lips locked with another man's lips, her in bed with another man, made him feel - weird. Uncomfortable. He didn't like it.

"Let's leave it until after the wedding? I don't know." Another pause. "I'd like to confirm something with someone, before we make that decision. What about you?" Her grey eyes lifted, an eyebrow raising.

"I - whatever suits you, I guess." He said awkwardly, stretching in his seat, folding his hands behind his head, and staring off into the distance. To his surprise, she laughed sharply.

"Aren't you going to miss screwing around?" Yeah, that had been one of his first thoughts when he'd realized that he was getting married. He shrugged lightly response, and didn't answer.

A long pause stretched between them; Annabeth surveying him critically, and Percy staring off into the distance - or more specifically, the sink, looking at it but not really looking at it - quite aware he was being watched. The silence was different; Percy wasn't sure they'd had an awkward silence as a barrier between them before. Or did they? He had a faint feeling they did, but he wasn't sure, he couldn't be sure, and just -

"Is there someone special in particular?" He asked, somehow not able to bear awkward silences with her. He was perfectly fine with it being there with almost everyone else, but with her- it didn't feel right.

"I don't know anymore." He felt, rather than heard, her sigh.

Another few moments of silence passed, and Percy wasn't sure whether to mark it was awkward or otherwise. Annabeth's gaze had become stony, and she was staring at something opposite him, and -

"You said there were three things. That you, um, wanted to talk about." He cleared his throat, and she promptly shook out of her trance, looking mildly irritated. She fixed her composure thoroughly - back straightening, hands in her lap, the whole deal.

"Yes." Formality? "Concerning whether we will be having bridesmaids, a best man, etc. and our five additional guests." He stiffened. The 'five additional guests' fight was soon to be coming anyway. He didn't really want a best man or anything. He wanted to keep the wedding simple.

"I can do without a best man or whatever." He thought she looked almost relieved. "I'd rather not go through all that work of having to assign this and that. As for the additional guests - do you have anyone in mind?"

She scowled grimly. "I only have two in mind." He arched an eyebrow in surprise. And here he was, thinking they'd fight over it.

"Are you a loner or something?"

"Be mature, please."

"How's that not mature? I'm just asking whether you're a loner or not."

"No, I'm not a loner. There're only two people I can think to invite that wouldn't make a big deal - " She grimaced. " - I mean, two people who would kill me if I didn't. I'm practically married to my work - " Of course. She shot him a lazy wink here. " - don't be jealous, honey. And the people I do know, they're just there. There are people who I consider close but - " She seemed to close up, after offering this explanation; her eyes were like light, that had been shut out by a door. " - yeah, only two."

He just about rushed to answer her, not wanting to be suffocated by another awkward silence. "So, two. That means I'll get to invite three, right? Three guests?" Her eyes narrowed, and her long fingers moved in complete sync, tapping against her mug. Her closed orbs turned stone cold, now not just blocked.

"Let's invite a mutual guest. Who do we both know, that can act as a compromise?" At his raised eyebrows, she narrowed her eyes, and said, "It's only fair if we both get to invite two. You inviting three guests puts everything off bala - " He interrupted her before he could help it, his short sleep catching up with him and slowly turning his forbearing mood foul.

"We're getting off the topic here, right now. How are we ever supposed to come up with a cover for this marriage, if you don't stop asking questions?" His eyes started to blaze, and his grip on his mug tightened, and before he knew it, he was retreating. He was retreating into the dark depths of his mind once again, for no particular reason, anger being his way in, and -

"I'm asking questions? So you've never asked a single question that had divided us from our topic? Never? Not in the past three days? You don't get to - "

"We were going to do it on the first night. We decided not to. We were going to do it yesterday, before we both called it a day. And now - "

"I'm not going to fight with you. Not again." Her own grey orbs blazed, and he almost shot up from his chair and yelled at her, just about to lose his composure once again, but he steeled himself and firmly kept himself sitting. He had to admit, he found it quite surprising that she hadn't answered him in kind. It was like to her to lose her temper with him for talking back, for demanding, for whatever, but here she was keeping her cool compo - her cool composure. She was keeping her cool composure. She was doing this the formal way. She wasn't going to let him make her lose herself once again. "It's not just my fault we keep getting diverted from our intentions, so don't blame all of it on me." She stood up, and his eyes never left her face, his eyes narrowing. "Whatever's wrong with you, get a grip on yourself. Come talk to me when you've calmed down. I'll be in our shared study room."

And she walked out, leaving her mug of coffee and him behind. He kept his eyes trained on the sink, not wanting to look at her again, somewhat consumed by a silent anger that was dying more and more by the second.

When the last ember of anger died away, he found himself feeling strangely empty and confused. He needed to get his thoughts together. He was being bipolar, not making any sense, and he couldn't understand why. He'd picked a fight with her yesterday, and he had been trying to pick another fight with her today, and he rarely picked fights - he was usually composed; perfectly composed, just like how Annabeth had been.

He needed some space. He needed some air.

His eyes strayed towards something up ahead of him - a polished, glass door. One that Annabeth hadn't gone through. Through the glass door, Percy could see a a neat area outside, where four dark leather bar stools sat around a wooden, elegantly carved table. Above it, he could see the blue sky somewhat twinkling and bright, and without giving it another thought, he headed towards it.

He gently slid open the glass door, and settled himself on one of the leather bar stools. As soon as he had made himself comfortable, he spun himself around a few degrees, and feasted his eyes on a glamorous sight. Overlooking the cozy area he had settled himself was a pool, sparkling and shining with gleaming blue water, that glinted underneath the beautiful sky. Well, it wasn't so much a pool as it was a pond, though it was a large pond at that. Or maybe even a lake. He wasn't sure. But it was big and huge and sparkling and beautiful, and the pond was curving and round at all sides, slightly straight here but curving there all the same, while rounding over there, and so on. There were railings at opposite sides, as well as a high platform up above to jump from and cannonball into the pool.

Percy smiled at that. He remembered being a professional swimmer in high school, winning almost every competition, almost every single race, even almost getting an opportunity to join a team of elite swimmers whim had joined the Olympics - but as quick as the flash of happiness had come, it had gone.

High school had been the beginning of everything. High school had been where it had all gone wrong. High school should have been his transitioning from a teenager into a complete adult, in a matter of three or four years - instead, he had spent a year or two there, had stopped swimming two thirds into his second year, gotten involved in things he shouldn't have, fallen into silent depression - and made very questionable life choices.

No. Not all questionable. Some of them - as horrible as they were, he would do them again. He would - no, he would not think about it. Thinking about one thing would lead to another thing, and then another, and then another, until the real, dark memories would start to hit him, start to consume him, and then -

He was out here to clear his mind. Not to bring his memories back - and most definitely not the bad ones.

Which brought him back to back to his original subject - Annabeth. The moment her name entered his mind, a combination of hatred and something else hit him, which made him all the more confused. He didn't understand himself when he was around Annabeth anymore, and he wasn't sure he trusted himself around her either. His emotions became too jumbled up, and at times, he found himself thinking that his feelings, his emotions - they were all somewhat bipolar.

Her touch would send tingles tingling in his spine, and make him want to take an immediate cold shower, which was not at all pleasant. Her voice would sometimes make him shiver - and sometimes, make him want to choke her to death. When she was around, he hated her and somehow - somehow wanted her at the same time, and sometimes, he would completely forget the main reason why he hated her - it was her fault he was married anyway.

But it was just that - that she was so demanding. At first, it had been kind of, sort of, funny. Amusing really. Just banter. She'd cut him off, wouldn't let him finish his sentences. Her decision would be final - and she was the controlling one. At times, he had no problem - _no_ problem at all with this. Her being demanding, he was used to it.

But somehow, it slithered into the cracks and weak crevices of his defense, that she could be a little too demanding, a little too controlling, He could never get his own opinion in. He could never get his own thought in. He could never talk as much as he wanted to.

He liked a feisty girl. He liked an independent one as well. Deep down, some part of him admitted that her personality itself was charming to some extent - she was tight, she was cold, yet she was so many other things. She kept to herself. He sort of liked that.

But he never got a word in.

Or did he? Percy wondered idly whether he was just analyzing things too much - was he? In some aspect, he was. Yesterday, he had gotten a word in when they had fought. More than just a word, really. Today, though, he hadn't. She had gotten her thoughts in and and he hadn't been able to say much and just - just - it had made some unbidden anger rise up in him.

That was it, though. This morning, barely ten minutes ago, was the first time she had been like that. Percy propped his head into his hands - he was analyzing this too much. He really was. But he ought to tell her so - maybe it would make things run more swiftly

And at just the moment his thoughts turned towards telling her - the glass door behind him slid open, and then a few quiet moments later, it slid shut - and close, gentle, pattering footsteps sounded behind him. What a coincidence.

He didn't have to turn around to figure out who it was.

For a moment, he felt some sort of faint victory. He was always going to her, doing what she said - let her come to him for a change. It wasn't one-sided. He wouldn't listen blindly.

If he followed after her, then she could too. It was only fair that - He realized he wasn't making much sense as soon as that faint sense of accomplishment left him.

"Have you gathered yourself together?" Her voice didn't sound cool, or icy, or stone-cold - it was plain emotionless. Nothing could be conveyed through _that_ metal voice.

"I've actually thought something through." He didn't turn to look at her as she slid the leather bar stool closest to him an inch or two away to give herself some space, or even as she sat down.

"Oh?" Her voice gave nothing away, not even mock surprise. It irritated him to some extent, but he immediately removed it, not wanting to strike up another fight with her. Fighting was both exhausting and exhilarating, when it was with her.

"I - " He hesitated, and after a moment, she casually knocked her shoulder against his, and his skin burned at the contact. Whether that was meant to push him on, he wasn't sure, but it made him gulp and hesitate some more instead.

"It wasn't alot, really - just, that, you know, erm - see, you were being demanding, today." Without turning to look at her, he rushed on, his heart beating just the slightest bit faster, but making sure that his face gave nothing away. "I don't like being taken control of, in some aspects. Yeah, the bantering is fine, and all, and yes, I hate you, and whatever, all that, but today, in our most recent fight, you didn't let me get a word in. And that bothers me, because - I don't like being taken over in that way. I mean, I'm okay with the bantering sure. It helps. But just - I don't like it when I'm not given a chance - a chance to talk, to make my own decisions." He paused awkwardly, wondering if his words made much sense to her. He mulled over going on some more, but stopped. He'd said what he had wanted to say, and that was it.

A few, long moments of silence passed, and Percy found that it wasn't unpleasant. Every few moments, a slight, refreshing breeze would ruffle him, and the pool pond - looking at it, that is, would comfort him. Next to him, Annabeth didn't really move, and when his curiosity got the best of him, he looked over at her with the corner of his eye - and almost regretted it.

She was looking at him with a slightly more open expression, her earlier emotionless facade erased. Curiosity, wonder, surprise, puzzlement - so many things lurked in those grey eyes of her's. It was surprising for him to see the emotions in her eyes - grey eyes were what she had, and they were often impenetrable. Often, not always. Her expression was what gave her away sometimes.

"You're something else, Jackson." She muttered softly after looking away from him; so softly, in fact, that he almost didn't hear her. But he did,

"I suppose I am?" It came out more as a question than as a statement, because he wasn't sure what to say. He could've been smug about it, but strangely, it didn't really fit the moment. For a split second, he almost thought she was on the verge of letting the corner of her mouth tilt up, make an actual smile, or at least, a fifth of a smile, but it was gone the moment it came.

Without looking at him, she said, "Come on, let's go inside and talk our cover through. Our study room - I don't feel like the living room today." She shot him an almost amused look. "No distractions this time." And then she walked away, leaving him slight baffled.

It only occurred to him, minutes later, when he was slowly making his way towards their study room, that she hadn't really answered him in any way when he had talked about her demanding self.

She had only been surprised, for some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He shook his head, his chest - the inside of his chest, to be exact, alarmingly near his heart - feeling warm, tingling a bit.

He shook it away.

* * *

 **"WE WERE FRIENDS, WE FELL IN LOVE,** and then we secretly got married months ago - "

"How do you explain all the other girls you've been with?"

"Er..."

"How many girls have you been with the past one year?"

"Depends. One-night-stands, or as dates?'

"How many of them went public with you?"

"About twenty or so."

"Were you seen in an intimate position with any of them?" He honestly didn't know how to answer that.

"Okay. That means you were. What if we just - what about this?" Her grey eyes swirled with amusement, and she watched him with some sort of glimmer in her eyes. "You fell in love with _me_ , but I didn't exactly know or care, but then - "

" _How about_ you fell in love with _me_ because I am just simply _irresistible_ -"

"Don't you dare paint me as the pathetic, lovestruck girl in this story, Jackson." Percy propped his chin on his open palm, watching her with surprise. Her words held a warning, and he wasn't stupid enough not to take it into consideration, but there was no real anger - no real threat or force behind her words. She was talking good-naturedly, and her eyes held a peculiar sort of interest when she looked at him, that always faded away, but somehow always came back. It was almost unnerving, to see Blondie looking at him with something that wasn't a scowl or a glare, or something mocking.

They were face to face in their surprisingly comfy study room - Percy faintly wondered why they couldn't have gotten their own respective study rooms, which wouldn't have been hard at all. with all the space the mansion had. The room around them was all mahogany and brown and old-fashioned, and their seats were designer, with also, admittedly old designs. A table sat between Annabeth and him, and on it, were settled their papers - the ones that they had signed yesterday.

Percy didn't know where they came from, but he found that having them around was uncomfortable - a constant reminder that he was no longer a free man. It affected his stance too - he was settled stiffly in his chair, left arm straight out and right arm propping his chin up, settled stiffly on the arms of the chair, legs out and settled tensely exactly where they were supposed to, spine perfectly balanced. Annabeth's stature, on the other hand, wasn't quite as formal as his was. Her legs were crossed and turned to one side, one beneath the other, and her right elbow was propped up on her left armchair, her cheek cupped in it, watching him, her expression flickering in and out. On and off.

He found that a little bit more than just unnerving.

"But you are the pathetic, lovestruck girl, Chase. You married me, didn't you?" He paused. "Are you calling all my fans 'pathetic, lovestruck girls'? Let me tell you, there are more than a few guys in the mix and - " She waved her hand at him dismissively.

"I don't need to know if you've made any amorous advances towards a poor handful of men."

"I'm straight. And they usually make the crude advances towards me so - "

"I don't need to know, Jackson. I really don't."

"Okay, so you fell in love with me and - "

"I thought we established that we weren't going to use that. So throw it away." Her admittedly long, slender fingers drummed on the arm of the chair, each finger going at it's own pace. It was somewhat mesmerizing, to see the blur of skin and bones moving and dancing to life.

"Then what do you want to do?" For the first time, she shot him a glance that wasn't interested or amused. She looked irritated.

"Oh, excuse me, Jackson, is this taking up too much of your time? I'm awfully sorry I never told you, but it takes time to make up a fake story that can fully convince more than a handful of paparazzi that we are engaged and married for more than just the joining of our businesses - "

"They could think of that," he mused quietly.

" - and whatever else." She finished, shooting him a murderous look.

"This is much more boring than I initially thought." He groaned out, and his muscles started to relax. He lifted his right foot up and let it hang right over his left leg.

"What, did you think making up a story was going to be all fun and games?" He looked at her moodily, but didn't answer.

"Okay, so let's gather up what we know so far. You've been screwing around for a very long time now, so - when was the last time you were seen out in public with a - " If she was going to say a girl, she changed her mind, and Percy smiled at her viciously. He had told her he was straight, hadn't he? " - date, or whatever else you take home these days?"

"About three months ago." He said, his moody tone not changing. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Father - " His lips curled. " - banned me from being seen out in public with a consort five months ago, but I didn't actually go with it until two months later. After that, everything was in complete secret, and the tabloids and magazines were checked multiple times to make sure nothing was seen." Her eyes lit up, and Percy swore it was the happiest he's seen her since they'd met.

"Yes." She leaned forward in her chair. "Yes, that's absolutely perfect. Your father is a - " She fell silent, the light in her eyes dimming a bit. Percy felt an explicable surge of disappointment. Her whole face radiated when she smiled, or when her eyes glowed, and though she wasn't smiling, her eyes glowing were truly an accomplishment.

" - tad bit helpful here and there." She paused, and for a moment, Percy almost thought he saw a flash of reminiscence in her eyes. "And this will help us because - "

"Are you happy because you think you're the only girl in the past three months? Because I did carry out various other relationships in secret." Her lips thinned, and for the first time since they'd entered the room, Percy saw a true flash of anger.

'What did we say about downgrading me, Jackson?"

"Well, we didn't specifically talk about downgrading you, but if you want, we have a full, long life ahead of us in which we can discuss how we can downgrade you and how we cannot downgrade you and how - " Her lips thinned even more, and her eyes were wiped free of emotion, and he was staring at blank, emotionless Annabeth Chase-Jackson once again.

Ugh. Chase-Jackson.

"When will you get your head out of your ass and get your head in the game?' He thought he saw a spark of violence radiating off her words, but her words were composed and so was her face.

"When the action rolls in." He said with a hint of fervor,and even he heard it. He said it almost subconsciously, but the moment he said it, his gaze focused on the woman opposite him almost sharply. Alarm bells rang in his head, and before he could help it, he was scanning her everywhere to see if she was a potential threat.

She sighed. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not your enemy." His head gave a jerk of surprise; no one had ever been able to see him so well to the point where the knew when he was scanning or wasn't. "Well, I sort of am, but it's not something that - I'm not a potential threat right now, Jackson." His ears zeroed in on the term 'right now' but he didn't say anything, watching her with narrowed eyes. She kept her composed position.

"I'm not going to bring up what happened yesterday, so you can calm yourself." She said it almost mildly, and annoyance flashed through Percy like a wave.

"As I was saying, the fact that you haven't dated for the past three months, and haven't been seen in public is very significant, because now we can say that we've been both keeping our relationship a low profile. After some time, it started to become genuine. and we decided to get married and here we are now."

"Who gets married after dating for three months?"

"We've known eachother a long time, have both - " Her eyes narrowed. " - _both_ suppressed feelings for the other, and when we finally admitted to it, we couldn't help it anymore, so - "

"That doesn't sound realistic at all. That sounds like a fairy tale love, and let me tell you, those don't exist." For a moment, they stared at eachother, Annabeth at him calculatingly, Percy at her with a hard gaze.

"I've lived for more than twenty years, Jackson. I'm not a child."

"Oh my god, the stone-cold Annabeth Chase - ' He noted that he wasn't using the last name they'd agreed on. " - has gone through life. Things have slipped throw those icy walls, have they, Chase?" Her gaze changed, and turned emotionless once again.

He wondered idly if she was bipolar. Then if he was bipolar. They could be the bipolar couple together.

"You wish, Jackson. You keep on straying from the topic, so focus, alright?"

"Your idea is too picture perfect, I don't like it and I don't want it. It isn't realistic at all."

"Since when are you such a realist, Jackson?"

"Oh, so we're placing labels now."

"No, we're straying from the topic again." Her gaze turned thoughtful again as she surveyed him, and again, it was unnerving. But as soon as it came, it went, and she was once again a slate free of emotion.

"Alright, so we're not using that." She paused, "We could be together for years, though." He shot her a fierce look. Wasn't she supposed to be the smart, strategic one? Hadn't he mentioned that - that he had been dating around for years now?

"No, I know what I'm saying, don't look at me like that. We could have been dating undercover but we could be - we could have been unsure of it. We sleep together once in a while, we go out together when we can, but it wasn't something very official. It was just a fling - that never stopped. But then - then - " An idea popped up in his head.

"Then something could have happened to the either of us, and we could have realized that we couldn't do without the other. We kept distance after that, barely met, but when it became too suffocating, we met up once again. And then more than once. Alot after that. Afterwards - afterwards, after spending some time together, a year or so ago, we realized that we were entering into a dangerous zone. Our 'secret relationship' was starting to become - become something akin to love, maybe. We both went on with our respective relationships for the public, because we were getting scared, maybe? But then, this started to become something, and we weren't ready for the public to interrupt this so - so eleven months ago we started to become something real, something stable. And then, a month or two afterwards, I - one of us proposed, and we've been engaged, we had a private wedding months later, end of story."

An astounded silence resounded throughout the room. Percy paused, looking up to see that Annabeth looked so shocked, her mouth was literally hanging open, her expression devoid, not because she was emotionless, but because she had no words. He himself sat, almost overwhelmed by what he had just spouted. What had he been thinking? That was way too much information to give away, so she would think that this was a true story, that this might have been real. He just about stopped himself from going to her and doing something, anything, to make her forget about what he had just said.

Percy almost laughed at himself. He was so stupid, so vulnerable. There was so much difference between him and her - she was a clean slate, devoid of any and everything that might give her away to what was really going on inside. She was a smart woman, who knew the cleverest of strategies; knew exactly what to do to make her opponent bow. Knew exactly what to do to keep someone from finding out what, or who, was really her. And he was someone who was all for action - he lived for the moment. He would run into something without caring, and we would assess cleverly, he knew, but it was only to figure out who was a potential threat or who wasn't He had been raised that way. He treated almost everyone as a threat - besides his mother, some friends, and now, this woman too.

He was losing his edge.

"That's quite the romantic story you've got there. I didn't know you were such a romantic at heart." She said quietly, and he looked up, expecting her to say something harsh, and surprised at how small she sounded. Instead, she wasn't even looking at him. Her gaze was focused on his face, yes, but not on him, not straight into him, not trying to figure him out. On his nose, or maybe his eyebrows - as if she didn't want to look deeper into him. He found that strangely comforting.

"But that is an - or could be, an efficient cover story. I want you to write it down, in official handwriting please, and keep it with these papers, so we can give it to your father when he comes around to show his - to show himself." He watched, dumbfounded, as she slowly got up, and quietly made her way towards the study door, her footsteps pattering on the wooden floor of the study room. Her stance was tense, uncomfortable, business-like, and she stood proudly, but at last moment, when her face was just escaping his sight, he caught a small inch of emotion on her face. Two emotions, actually.

A small tiny inch of fear, and then a larger piece of bewilderment.

"Where are you going?" He asked, astonished. She stopped and turned.

"I'm going to figure some other things out. Make a list and - the cover story is done. So we have to move to other things."

"This quick? Shouldn't we take a break?" His eyebrows drew together. She turned to face him fully, her back to the door. He had a strange urge to keep her with him, to draw some sort of comfort from her presence. His heart started to buzz with something. Tingle, even.

"There is no break for us, where we're at." She said quietly, and then silently turned around and left, leaving Percy somewhat dazed. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was talking about. Her words made his skin prickle.

The last look on her face almost scared him. It was so dreadfully marble, so dreadfully still, so dreadfully silent, that it almost couldn't be normal.

He couldn't help but think she was walking away so quickly, because of him. Because of what he'd said. He'd scared her away with emotion, and that made his chest feel like burning a bit.

* * *

 **THE WEEKEND, AND THEN THE FOLLOWING WEEKDAYS,** passed by in a tiring blur, and Percy found himself exhausted from the moment he got up to the moment he fell into bed every night, always before Annabeth. Said woman had left behind the quiet demeanor she had attained the last time they actually sat down and had a meaningful talk when she had left, and was now a main part of the reason he was exhausted every single passing second of the day: she was part of the reason he was doing this, and she had made an endless list of wedding preparations. She hadn't been kidding - or lying - when she had said that she did these kind of things, because the list she had provided him with was most certainly huge, though it wasn't in order. It went something alot like this:

1) Work out budget

2) Wedding Party setting

3) Begin guest list (my fam, your fam, five friends combined: AC (2) J (2)

4) Meet planners, and discuss

5) No photographers

6) My dress, your suit

7) Invitations

8) Book florist and flowers

9) The cake

10) Hair/Makeup

11) Refreshments

12) Assign Seating

13) Do not get off task

And most of them - honestly. Both he and she knew that they didn't need to care about the budget - it would be gladly taken care of. Nothing came near the amount of money his family and her family combined had - not even. Yes, they probably would have to plan out the Wedding Party setting, because the actual wedding was to take place at the church - Percy had never been too religious, so he didn't know what to think of that - and they were planning on a wedding party. The guest list - yes, he supposed that was something they needed to do. His mother - hell, explaining it to her - his stepfather, Paul, his brother, Tyson, a Helen Chase, a Fredrick Chase, a Bobby Chase, Matthew Chase, and a Malcolm Chase. The last name had seemed like it had been forced into the page, and the writing - Annabeth's oh-so-perfect writing - was messed up and faded when it stopped at that word.

Looking at that name, he stopped short. Percy knew a Malcolm Chase.

But that wasn't important. After that, was their five friends combined - honestly? AC stood for her initials, and both names. But him? He had a J. A plain, capitalized J. This woman - he really wanted to wring her neck sometimes.

It was her duty to call her two friends and invite them - oh yes, the invitations. They had to do those. As for him, he'd already called his two invites - he'd given them a five second explanation, threatened them with castration if they didn't show up, and hung it up on them while they had still be dumbfounded.

After that, was the planners. That had been taken care of already. Percy grimaced at the thought of it. No photographers - of course not. They wanted pictures of their wedding and relationship to leak out slowly, and the story they had come up with would hopefully leak out slow and fast enough. Percy had written it down, copied it, and sent a copy to his father - not exactly following his instructions. The night he'd told her, they'd had a short fight, and he found himself sleeping on the cold floor the next morning, void of a blanket, and his pillow laid over his groin, which throbbed painfully - and not because of an arousal. His attempts at trying to get back up had been unsuccessful, until Annabeth had threatened that she would lay a harder blow to his precious family jewels if he didn't haul his ass up. He got up faster than you could say 'precious family jewels'.

Book the florist and the flowers - yep, that was good. They needed that. Percy personally liked most flowers, so he had nothing against that. The cake - yes, that was a definite yes. The hair and the makeup - he supposed they probably would have to look at least a bit presentable. The refreshments - the guests needed them, and they needed them. Assign seating - he didn't really care about that. Anyone could sit anywhere. And the last one - Percy really, really wished he could get off track, He wished he could afford to get off track. But he couldn't, and that was that.

Saturday morning, Annabeth had assembled both the guest list and the seating arrangements, so that was two things done. When she came back, they had argued about the budget, and Percy had won that one - to his own, utter surprise. Apparently, his argument about why they didn't need to care about the budget hadn't been off track. The rest of Saturday went slow.

On Sunday, Annabeth went out during the evening, while Percy stared at the list she had given to him to examine - she had told him to before leaving, and he had a suspicion she had given him such a worthless job to do because either she didn't want him coming along, or she just wanted him to do something that seemed useful. When she had come back at eleven at night, he heard the sound of keys jingling and the sound of a car being unlocked and locked, and when he had gone outside to investigate, he had found the garage door wide open, and five, shiny new cars inside.

He had gone to stand next to Chase who was standing directly in front of the garage, her eyes gleaming smugly and proudly while he had stared.

A beautifully, painted silver Audi RS 7, an Aston Martin Vanquish Volante a similar shade, a Porsche 918 Spyder, this time a gleaming shade of gold, another Porsche 918 Spyder, this time shining red, and then, at the very back, a dark Volvo S60 in the shadows.

He had brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm so many times he lost count, while she had looked on with an expression that had a mixture of amused contempt, slight disgust, and happiness - he supposed he wasn't the only one that had quite a knowledge about cars. Then he had run towards the cars, and after making sure there were no cameras to watch him be sappy, he had hugged and kissed and mulled over every single inch of every single car, while Annabeth had laughed out loud a gorgeous laugh, and then had strictly told him that if there was a speck of dust on any one of them, she would castrate him slowly and painfully.

Nevertheless, she had had a conversation with him - not very long - about each and every single car and how beautiful each one of them was. They had gone to bed at two in the morning after having regretfully closed the garage door, sleeping on their own, respective sides of the bed, both of them in a good mood.

Monday morning had horrible weather, and Percy and Annabeth fought half the day about why Percy hadn't been able to go with her to buy the cars, and had ignored eachother the other half the day. It was only when they had gone to sleep that Percy had realized that their wedding was in two days, and had broken off their silent treatment of eachother.

Tuesday morning, Percy had woken up just as early as Annabeth, and they had both started to arrange everything. Annabeth had been calm, having had settled her half of the list, and made all the appointments. She had already met their wedding planners, and he had been stupidly rushing to and fro, out and in, ordering the cake, the flowers, and wondering what the absolute hell to do about his makeup.

In her own time, Annabeth had already made and sent the invitations, and left two blank ones for Percy's two guests. She had decided the Wedding party would be put on hold, until they could discuss it, and had already ordered her dress and arranged her makeup artists. She had taken pity on him, she had said, and ordered a suit that matched her wedding dress. But his makeup and preparations were left to him. Percy had spared her a moment to tell her that it had not been pity, it had just been furthering his stress by not knowing whether his wedding suit was a chicken suit or an actual outfit. She had glared at him, and had been unable to keep it up. She had laughed out loud.

He found it quite stressful that she hadn't exactly affirmed or denied whether she had ordered a chicken suit or not.

Tuesday evening, Poseidon had called, and Percy had put the phone on speaker. In remarkably cool tones, he had asked them what they had prepared, and they had told them. He had said to call it off, because he had pulled some strings of his own, and all they had to do was be present at the church to be changed and prepared, and to exchange their vows. Then, he had promptly ended the call.

For the first time since they had gotten married, Annabeth and Percy had agreed on something. Once the call had ended, they had thoroughly cursed his father out in multiple languages until midnight. Percy didn't have the time to realize that his wife was speaking multiple different languages (or was she?) or wonder if she was speaking different languages at all. At the back of his mind, it registered, but he had been too overtaken by anger.

And on Wednesday, was the wedding.

* * *

 **I have the most unexpected song ringing in my head right now, and the lyric isn't really at its cleanest, and I am cringing and cringing and cringing. Anyway, I finished this chapter up yesterday morning, and wondered whether to update it then - but decided to publish it exactly on time.** **it was actually a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I made the last part up as I wrote.**


	9. I Hope You Trip Coming Up The Aisle

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **I HOPE YOU TRIP COMING UP THE AISLE  
[ unedited ]  
[ 7.3.17 ]  
[ 6,067 words ] **

* * *

**ANNABETH FELT MISERABLE.**

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened considerably, as she stared up ahead. Almost absentmindedly, she tilted her head as her husband eyed her poisonously from the seat next to her. She shot him a questioning look, before going back to focusing on the road up ahead.

"Yes, Mom. No - _no_ , I know. Really?" The last word was filled with so much sarcasm, Annabeth couldn't stop herself: she shot him an amused look. He just kept on glaring at her, and strangely, it was quite genuine, which was puzzling because - no. Nope. It wasn't puzzling. It made perfect sense. Her thoughts were starting to go astray.

"You haven't even met her yet, Mom, how would you know - no, no, hell _no_ , we _aren't_ having - we don't - _mom_ , we aren't _sleeping together!_ What sort of question is that _?"_ From the corner of her eyes, she watched as his face turned beet red. She pressed down a laugh, though it wasn't very easy to do. His glare turned even more intense. And then silence.

In that silence, her distant amusement faded into realization. _How is his mother like? What does his mother know?_ And the question that jolted her up the most: _What will his mother think of me?_

"I - of course we - we - yeah, it's - it's genuine." He stumbled, as he was starting to do alot, as he was doing alarmingly too much, these days. She sighed quietly to herself. He wasn't _supposed_ to be like this - he wasn't supposed to be _this_ \- this _open_ , this _soft_ , this _vulnerable_ \- they were supposed to be from the same goddamned _material_! They had been both supposed to be empty slates, there shouldn't have been any bantering - fights, hell, even the _fights_ she found alarming.

And here she was, driving herself and him to her wedding. Her head was pounding, and butterflies flied freely in her chest, taking up most of the space - and barely leaving enough space to breathe. Her grip tightened on the leather steering wheel, despite her will to stay calm. and she had to force herself to keep her hand from flying up to her forehead, and massaging it.

"Say what?" Pause. "Of course I can say that word, Mom! Why _else_ would I be marrying her?" Another pause. "Fine. Fine, I'm in - in _l-l-love_ with i - her. Yeah, her. No Mom, I wasn't going to say 'it'. No, Mom, _please_ , I'm getting _married_." Pause. "I told you, I wanted it to be a surprise - no, Mom, of course - okay. Okay, I love you too." Then, as if it was an after thought, "I _do_ love you," in a small, dejected voice.

As soon as Percy forced his phone into the pocket of his jeans with a ridiculous amount of force, he said, " _Fuck_ you."

"Excuse me?" She replied coolly, not looking at him.

"I hope you trip coming up the damned aisle." He snarled, before moodily turning to look out the window. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, you obviously can't ' _fuck_ ' me because I wouldn't let you, first of all, and you're the one most likely to trip coming up the aisle, you ass." She said irritably, eyeing the distant church building yards ahead of her. "And whatever happened during your little - " She waved her hand lazily in the air. " - conversation and got you all nice and fired up, keep it to yourself please. I'm not in the mood for your temper tantrums."

"What if I don't want to keep it to myself?"

"Then go find someone else to go off on."

"Stop bossing me around."

"Who said anything about bossing you around?"

"You're getting all pretentious again." She tensed, a snake coiling around itself, waiting to spring, as she loosened her hands around the wheel, approaching a red light. Then, she turned towards him, her eyes blazing. She was not _pretentious_. She told him so.

"I'm not pretentious, you slobbering, filthy piece of shit."

"Yes you are, you psychopathic bitch."

"No I'm not, you bipolar asshole."

"Yes you are, you _pretentious cabbage._

"No I'm not, you absolute _arse_."

"Crapface."

"Not even a word. Smartass."

"Scumbag."

"Douchebag."

"Dumb blonde."

She lunged at him, eyes flashing, abandoning all pretense. Her fingernails raked his face, and he jumped into action, latching his hands on to her wrist, and squeezing hard, cutting his nails into her skin. Even then, her fingernails cut into his face, making cuts, and then he was trying to shove her off, and then she was getting closer to him with a devious, murderous glint in her eyes, and then his own hands were flying everywhere, tearing, scratching, bruising - even as he aimed a punch at her fave, her perfect, pretentious, icy, carved face, and as she blocked it and threw a punch to his nose, though it was weak because he held her back, and then they were rolling around, punching, shoving, kicking, bringing up their feet, screaming unintelligible words, pain stinging here and then there, and then -

 _HONK! HONK! HONK! WHEE WHOO WHEE WHOO WHEE WHOO._

There were police coming ahead. For a moment, Percy and Annabeth were torn out of their rather violent embrace, which was not at all an actual embrace, and stilled, looking up at the other. Annabeth was clawing his cheek with her left hand, and her right hand had been repeatedly smashing into his arm, which now throbbed dully. One of his hands was messed up in her curls, in the middle of pulling, and his other hand was trying to punch her stomach. Her left leg was just about curling slightly around him, and he had brought his own right leg up, trying to shove her away, hurt her, do whatever.

They stared and stared. And stared. When the police sirens got closer, they scrambled to get back into their own respective positions, Annabeth wildly fixing her hair, taming it, pulling her clothes down and smoothing them out, while Percy stared ahead awkwardly, his hand going wild trying to tame his hair, and fingering a hole on his formerly clean tee. He cleared his throat, shame coating every single layer of his conscience.

Loud footsteps sounded on the sidewalk to their left, and they both made last minute preparations, fixing, pampering themselves out thoroughly. At last, when a strict looking officer knocked his head against Annabeth's window, she calmly rolled down - and flashed him the most politest, the most smallest, and the most unconvincing smile he had ever seen in his life. And he had seen many things in his life.

"Hello, Officer. May I help you?" She asks, sweet, but not sweet, sugary, but not sugary. The perfect mix of innocence and sweetness. Percy found himself wondering if the police officer fell for her supposed innocence as he fixed his sleeves, pasting on a brooding smile on his face.

"What seems to be the problem?" Percy asked, going through with none of the pleasantries his wife used. The police officer leaned again the window, switching gazes between the two of them, somewhat astonished. It was then that Percy realized that both he and she were quiet famous people, and most people recognized them everywhere.

"I'm sorry," the officer muttered, his voice a mix between respect and surprise, though the shock on his face was slowly dissipating. "But you seem to be disturbing the while road. The light has been switched to green - " He gestured towards the traffic light. " - and behind you, there's one hell of a traffic jam." Percy's head swerved behind him, and he found one long line. One very long line.

"There's alot of traffic this morning," he murmured to himself. Out loud, he said, "I'm very sorry Officer, we must not have noticed." With agility, he reached out, and snaked his hand around his wife's neck, squeezing ever so tightly, putting up a show. "My wife and I got quite caught up in our .. business. We promise we'll try and make sure it won't happen again."He drawled, smirking, before pressing his lips against her forehead, while she stilled underneath him considerably. He hoped that her composure would not put their lie out into the open. It might complicate things.

"I see. Well - " If the officer tried to control it, his attempts were not successful, because his nose wrinkled, slight disgust overtaking his face, with the majority being shock. " - well, I'm sorry, but I will have to - "

Underneath him, Annabeth spurred to life, though she was still tense. "Oh, will you look at that? We got so caught up - look at the time. We'll be late for our own _event_!" Her voice was mocking, Percy thought, filled with shock and panic. Though it seemed very much genuine, Percy didn't believe she actually cared. "We really must be going, Officer. I promise, next time, me and my _beloved_ husband won't - indulge in our _carnal_ hobbies inside a car early in the morning while waiting for the green light, Thank you, and good day."

And with that, the car moved smoothly into action, jerking Percy from his stance on top of her. As he uncoiled himself from his wife, he realized that behind them, a considerate amount of cars had been honking their irritation, while he and Annabeth had been caught up in their own world. How romantic. How utterly romantic.

The both of them didn't talk for the rest of the car ride.

* * *

 **"THIS WAS VERY SUDDEN."** A raven-haired beauty tilted Annabeth's face to the right, gripping tightly, as she traced an eye pencil right underneath Annabeth's left eye. Annabeth herself was seated firmly in a chair, her face set with irritation, her fingernails digging into arms of her leathery chair.

"Yes, Thalia, it is very sudden. I'm sorry if it took you aback." Thalia raised an eyebrow, drawing back to take a good look at Annabeth, her eyes narrowed, as if she knew that Annabeth's voice and mind held a bit more than a little mock. For some reason, from the moment Annabeth had set foot inside the room, Thalia had been snapping at her, with thinly-veiled irritation, which didn't sit well with Annabeth, because she herself wasn't having the best of days.

"Calm your tits," she snapped, moving back towards the dresser propped up against the wall, to switch pencils. "I'm just making conversation." Annabeth gripped the arms of her chair even more tightly, and let out an inaudible breath. She had been being a bitch for the past week, completely and utterly distracted from her babies, namely her plans and her office. The past week, it had been with the jerk, so that was fine. She'd be as bitchy as she wanted with him, taking out all her anger and frustration over anything and everything on him. But with Thalia? Her best friend? No, she couldn't.

"I haven't had the best week." Feeling highly uncomfortable with the distance from her best friend on a short notice, she quickly made up for her mock. "I, am, um - I'm - sorry - if I'm being sort of snappy." She said awkwardly. Thalia turned back towards her, her jean-clad hips swaying, and as she turned back, she made contact with someone over Annabeth's head. Annabeth kept her grey eyes trained on Thalia, hoping she would see the apology in her eyes, instead of making her say it.

"Oh my god. Is Annabeth Chase apologizing? I never thought I'd see the day." An new, obnoxious, sophisticated voice joined the bride and her makeup artist, and Annabeth felt a compressed smile spreading on her lips. A load of perfume hit her nostrils, and she crinkled her nose in distaste, but couldn't hide the smile. A pair of warm arms embraced her from behind her, and Annabeth, though hesitant, leaned back into the crook of the newcomer's neck.

"Drew," she murmured in greeting, and a seductive, slightly shrill laugh rang in her ears.

"I'm glad to find that my name hasn't been forgotten, Chase. And - oh my god, it's your _wedding day_!" A full-blown, piercing squeal penetrated the air surrounding them, and Drew's hold on Annabeth tightened. Annabeth's face turned pale, and before she could help it, she exchanged a wary look with Thalia, who's face plainly said 'why me?'

"Never mind the fact that you didn't tell me before, I am so going to kill you later. After your honeymoon, maybe. But the important thing is - your _hair_. It looks like a bird's fucking nest. We have got to work on it." She glanced as Thalia, whom she hadn't greeted yet. "Unless you're doing it?" Suddenly her voice was much more unsure, and the frostiness coated them was not to be ignored.

"I'm doing her makeup," Thalia said coldly, her words balancing precariously in the air, as if being weighed down. She turned away from Annabeth and Drew, and returned to her table, having not used the instrument that she had brought over to use on Annabeth's face. An awkward silence settled in the air between the three girls as Drew settled her mini Gucci bag on a nearby surface, and walked around, looking for what she could use.

"Annabeth," she started, panic seeping into her voice. "Annabeth, I don't see anything I could use for hair in here." Her voice went a level up. Annabeth shrugged. "Well, just make some simple braid or - "

"It's your _wedding_. No one does _simple braids_ at _weddings_ , Annabeth." Drew said, her hands spread out wide, looking thoroughly insulted. "I need supplies - didn't anyone even think to - " She was cut off by a consistent knocking - more like pounding, really - on the door, and before anyone could take a step, the door was thrown wide open. Annabeth's father stepped in, looking harassed and weary.

"The dress - the dress - she didn't even put on the _dress_?" All three girls stared. "Get her in her dress, we're running low on time - he says it's time, they'll be coming, she and Percy - they - they - " He was breathing hard. Annabeth froze. All the air seemed to be knocked out of her lungs. What was her father saying?

"Get her in the fucking dress, we go to go, _hurry_ \- " No one moved a single inch. Annabeth never remembered having seen her father in such a state, and it was starting to worry her. What did he mean, get in the dress? The wedding dress? They were to save that until the end - and they had two hours left too - plenty of time, plenty of time...

"GET IN THE FUCKING DRESS ANNABETH, ARE YOU NOT HEARING ME?" He shouted, his complexion turning into an impressive shade of tomato, a color Annabeth had never seen spread throughout her father's face. She had never heard him shout this loud - no, he never normally shouted this loud - and what did he mean, why was the wedding dress so important..?

The contour of a second figure could be seen racing through the hall on the wall behind Annabeth's father, and that very same figure swooped in, not even a bit out of breath. Poseidon stared at Annabeth, and before he could say a word, Annabeth said, "What do you mean, get in the dress, there's plenty of time left - " Her voice was as controlled as she could make it, but as she did not appreciate being yelled at in the tone her father had taken up, it came a bit louder and ruder than she had tried to make it.

As Poseidon opened his mouth, his expression turning a bit - panicked, maybe? Annabeth realized the two girls behind her had frozen as well. She turned towards Thalia, who had, yes, she had frozen, yet - her eyes were moving between Annabeth and Poseidon like a blur, as if connecting some dots. Drew was simply frozen - shock written all over her face.

"Annabeth," Poseidon said as calmly as he could. "We scheduled - there was a change in schedule. We need to get you in your dress, and we need to leave." His eyes flickered towards the two other girls, and when they settled on Thalia, a spark of recognition ignited in his eyes, but before Annabeth could comprehend this, his gaze had zoomed back towards her.

"What about the wedding ceremony?" She asked, her mind not quite catching up to what the hell he was saying. For a moment, Poseidon's eyes blazed.

"The wedding ceremony's off - just get in the damned dress Annabeth, we need to leave as _quick_ as possible - " Hadn't her father said that - that the guests has all been invited early and - and - Annabeth pointed towards her father.

"He said the - the - "

"I do not care what he said. _Get in the dress_ , we need to _hurry_ , things are going downhill already," Annabeth did not know what to do about the urgency in his voice, but she stalked towards her wedding dress as quickly as she could, fumbling with the silky material for a moment, before both Drew and Thalia came on up to help her, Thalia carefully avoiding her eyes. The door closed for a moment, blocking out the two men, as Annabeth moved in a small, crazy dance to get her shirt off, as both Thalia and Drew carefully pried the dress from it's hangar, and carefully started to put it on Annabeth, making sure that not a single seam ripped as they put it over her form and zipped it up from the back. They worked in complete quiet, and Thalia and Drew, it seemed, despite their enmity towards eachother, worked in perfect harmony, their hands working.

When they were finally done, Annabeth gave them both a hurried thank you, before quickly stalking out, Drew following next to her. As they passed the door, Annabeth snatched her pastel white, three inch heels - which she hadn't chosen, thank you very much, she had forgotten about it until Thalia had pointed it out to her that very morning, and had gone out to get a pair without consulting Annabeth - and raced out, meeting the two men at the end of the hallway. There, she carefully but quickly settled them on the floor, and shoved her feet into them - nevermind they would start killing her soon.

When she looked up, she found a pair of emerald green eyes staring at her, transfixed. Nevermind the two men standing at her side. For a moment, there was only the man in front of her.

He was in the suit she had bought for him - and she had only bought it for him because she knew with certainty that if she made him buy his suit, he would choose the crappiest, most horrifying suit he could find - and it probably would have been because he liked it too. But she had gotten him one, and he had worn it, and she had to admit, he looked quite smart in it, and with tufts of his hair windswept, while the rest was combed neatly - even though some of it still stood up. It didn't look like he had been able to finish taming it. For a moment, his admittedly gorgeous emerald orbs blazed with a sort of intensity, and she watched his eyes as they took her in. She couldn't say she cared much for what he thought of her unbrushed mane of blonde hair, her half-done makeup, or how quickly she had put on the dress, but the desire - the lust that overtook his eyes as he took her up and down made her feel breathless - and that was quite an accomplished.

When he finally stopped checking her out - she would have to scorn him for being a perv - his eyes flew back up to meet her own, and they, for a moment, looked taken aback. Confused. The desire and lust was pushed behind a veil.

And then, without another moment ado, they morphed into the most emotionless, the coldest, and the most impassive look she had seen of him. It almost made her flinch, how quickly he had covered up his emotions and turned into a robot. She wasn't sure he had ever done this before.

The two men squeezed out the door, and headed up in front of Percy, while Annabeth narrowed her eyes at Percy so he moved away from the door, while she moved out, following along behind the two men, her husband at her side. Neither of them dared to look the other in the eye, or even tried to talk - the air was tense between the two of them. They followed behind the two men, as they weaved in and out of hallways and doorways, until they finally got out of the church building - through a door Annabeth had never seen. It wasn't the door at the front, nor was it the door at the back - it was a door that led to one corner of the Church, where they squeezed out from a small doorway. Annabeth had no idea that Churches had these sort of doors - she'd seen layouts of multiple, gorgeous churches, but never had she known about these sort of doors. Maybe it was just this, specific church? Interesting. She had to review the layout, most definitely.

Annabeth lifted up her dress - she was wearing white tights underneath, she seemed to be wearing tights often these days - and made sure not to get a single smudge on her dress, not wanting to ruin the valuable piece of clothing. She hadn't had the time to analyze it thoroughly, but it was made out a silky material that felt cool on her skin, and was some sort of relief from the heat nature provided once in a while. It wasn't exactly body-hugging, but it was close, and the slight, gorgeous printing was intricately done.

But now was not the time to be thinking about the dress. As soon as they got out of the tiny doorway, the two men turned, and grabbed Annabeth and Percy's respective forearms, gripping tightly. The air around them was serious and strangely quiet, so Annabeth did no dare protest - and neither did Percy. Poseidon had grabbed her arm, while her father had taken Percy's forearm. They walked quickly towards the parking lot, where a series of cars painted different colors were settled. The two men led them towards a long, black limo - or so it seemed. Walking quickly, as they neared the limo, Annabeth caught a flash of something dark moving out of the corner of her right eye, before she was turned quickly, toward a different car.

A new car, similar to the Volvo S60 she had bought days ago, was situated in between two cars of dark colors; seemingly very hard to notice. By now, they were just about running, and before she knew it, she was being shoved into the car, while Percy was being shoved through the other door. She smacked right into him as she tried to move over and smoothen out her wedding dress - speaking of which, why the fuck did she have to wear it if they weren't going on with the wedding ceremony?

She removed herself from the physical contact carefully, still relieving the nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, and as she looked up and around to inspect her surroundings, she accidentally caught the gaze of the man next to her, and their eyes locked together, grey on green. She gave herself a moment to ponder about his sudden change in attitude - this unprecedented change of attitude - she only ever remembered him being near this closed up when they had first met, but now... now he seemed like a damned robot who was not capable of feeling anything. His face gave off the impression of being carved from solid rock, with those high cheekbones and dark, unfathomable eyes and that face unmarred by any emotion whatsoever...Perfection, it was, that was what it was. Perfect. Unscarred, unmarked by emotion; never had she seen anything so cold, so robotic, so sculpted, so carved and still and solid and genuine, it was as if there lay nothing underneath..

She promptly turned away, and beneath her, she felt the car start up, revving up smoothly and quietly, silent like a purr.

She had wanted him to be from the same material, to act as icy? as her, be just as ignorant as she was to him, but he had ended up being quite vulnerable and open - well, slightly, at least. Not too much, but enough to surprise her. But now that he had started to act the way he was supposed to, the way he should have been from the start - why was she not happy about it? Why was she not comfortable about it? She had wanted it to be like this from the start...

 _The way I act with you isn't the same way I act with everyone else._

No, it certainly wasn't. He had certainly never acted like this with her, not even when he got angry - and somehow, this made her feel something she couldn't understand. And if he was like this with other people - how many different covers, how many different attitudes did he have, exactly? As she pushed her window down to get some fresh air, she faintly remembered thinking about something along those lines about him the day they met - a week ago. It seemed like ages ago.

From the front seat, Poseidon was grappling for something underneath his seat, and Frederick was determinedly gripping the steering wheel, his eyes locked up ahead. They had left the church parking lot - and were making their way through the streets. Poseidon stuck his head up, a pile of something that looked like alot of black material in his hands. He quickly separated them into two piles, and, turning around, he threw each respective pile neatly at each respective person. Annabeth didn't bother asking - she had been through too much today - or so it seemed to her - to ask why she had been given this. She already had a good idea.

On having opened up the untidy pile of what seemed to be clothing, not material, she found a black tee, and dark skinny jeans - paired with a pair of black boots Poseidon threw at her a moment later. At her side, Percy started to take his suit off, pulling it over his head, and Annabeth refused to turn and take a glimpse. She'd felt his chest before, when he'd slept against her as she stared out into the night, but she didn't need to look. She really didn't. He fumbled with his clothing, before pulling a new shirt out of his pile, and Annabeth couldn't tell what it was exactly. Next, he started on his pants - and she immediately looked away, not wanting to see _a_ nything or even the outline of anything, or even his legs _-_ even though she was sure he wore boxers or underwear. She started to pull her boots on, which had nothing but black, and she wondered faintly how her new clothing would due with the weather outside. It was, at least, better than her dress, which she was quite scared of ruining with dirt.

When she finished, sh looked up to glare at the occupants of the front seats.

"I'm not changing in here," she said in the most straightest voice she could muster, though she had to admit, she did sound a tad bit indignant.

"No one's going to look or care, Annabeth," Poseidon said wearily. "If it helps you feel better, we'll all look away."

"It's not to help me feel better," she snarled. "It's because I'll be changing, and can a woman change around three men that she does not trust, under any circumstances?" She swore she saw the beginnings of a smirk start to form on the face next to her, and her father move, as if startled, in the driver's seat.

"No one's going to look, Annabeth," Poseidon repeated, his voice now holding a tinge of annoyance. Annabeth glared at him until he looked away, shoving down the window viciously, and looking out, before turning towards Percy with a threatening expression. When his eyes didn't budge, however, she pursed her lips, and turned, pulling up the blinds on the window, and turning to the side, she hesitated. How the fuck was she going to change out of her wedding dress? If she changed out of those tights first, nothing would be revealed. She carefully lifted herself up an inch or two to get them off, and the moment they were off, she pulled on the skinny jeans - why did they have to be skinny? - and wriggled into them, fiercely hating all three men in the car, for various reasons.

Then, honestly, she stopped caring. Oh, so they wanted to see her, did they? Yeah, sure, why the fuck not? They could look, do nothing else, these pieces of utter garbage. She stopped caring, and her hand went to the back, trying to pull the zipper down - but her hair got in the way, tangling with the zipper, and she winced. She needed a hairband to keep it up high and tamed, but she didn't see any around her, did she? She pursed her lips even tighter, trying to pull the zipper down - get down, get down, you stupid piece of - and then she felt a pair of delightfully cold hands breezing by her hot skin, and she felt chills race down her spine. Up ahead, Poseidon's eyes were on her, and when he caught her looking, he smirked, and pressed a button to his left - and as if they were sitting in a compartment, a door in front of them started to close up, blocking them from being seen by the occupants of the front seats. Annabeth scowled.

She turned slightly, and his leg brushed her hip, as he in turn pushed a little bit closer to her, and gently, though somewhat carelessly, started to untangle her hair, and as soon that was done, started to pull the zipper down. She made to turn away the moment that was done, but his leg pressed on her hip, and her scowl became more pronounced as he trailed a chilling finger down the bare part of her spine that had been revealed. She shivered, sure this was revenge for what she had done to him before.

She was wearing a bra, she was sure of it. She wasn't sure which one, though. Her stomach clenched painfully as he hit a particularly sensitive spot on her spine, and she turned away, quickly pulling up the black tee and putting it on, before letting go of the part of the wedding dress she was holding at her neck, so only a bit of her stomach was shown in the stomach. Then, she pulled down the rest of her wedding dress down from her hips carefully, and when she finally got the damned thing off, she zipped it up, and folded it neatly.

When she turned to settle the folded dress in the seat between her and him, he found him looking out the window, a hint of red on his cheeks, expression still emotionless. She didn't even bother to wonder what _that_ was about.

When she turned back towards the window, she found that they were now on the highway. She rested her head against it, the window, just for a moment. She needed a rest, she'd gotten up quite early in the morning. To her, the day seemed a bit hectic, yet, when she went over it all, it didn't seem as if she went through much really. But her head was starting to pound - she wondered why. She needed to lay down her head, just for a moment, just close her eyes for a bit. She wouldn't sleep, of course, but she'd just, lay there.

It was just for a moment, of course...She would get up soon...She would demand to know...So many questions...Her life was just getting more and more confusing...And...And...She was feeling a bit drowsy, she'd lay here for a few more moments, but then she would...She would most certainly question them...Just a bit...of sleep...

* * *

 **this chapter, i had bunches of fun writing. the wedding being off, the sudden leaving, everything confusing, all that action i dun know? would you consider it action though? that paragraph when they enter that car and shove (smack?) against eachother and they look into the other's eyes, and Annabeth describes him, that paragraph I loved writing.**

 **now, about the fact that I've been dead the past few weeks - well, at first, I wanted to take a short, two week break. it was meaningless, because what break was I taking exactly? I dun know, dun ask me. but at the end of those two weeks - well, two days after those two weeks, to be exact - the power went out because the wind was pretty strong and knocked something down, so that meant my precious computer went off - i write on a computer, it's torture typing it all up on a phone or ipad - and we forgot to turn off the monitor. this led to that, the computer didn't work, and I could do absolutely nada - my life sucked ass, that's for sure, as long as my baby the computer was gone - but hey, it was replaced, and I'm writing again.**

 **anywho, i think i'm at least four weeks late. i apologize, and then i apologize if this doesn't seem genuine enough. I definitely missed the thrill I felt writing (typing?) because writing it all up on paper is just not the same. not at all the same. i feel much more confident typing this up. writing could be for other stuff I guess - small bits of stories, but besides that, other stuff.**

 **NOW, HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY - I AM TIRED OF HEARING FIREWORKS. THEY'VE BEEN GOING ON THE PAST THREE NIGHTS WHY  
**

 **\- AND THIS IS AT LEAST A WEEK LATE, I JUST REALIZED, BUT EID MUBARAK TO ANY MUSLIM READERS OUT THERE (are there any? i dunno) BUT EID MUBARAK ANYWAYS**

 **note: i think i might change my username. so if it's different next time, it's still me.**

 **i think.**

 **this update was supposed to be yesterday, but I did it today, I'm sorry, I couldn't finish it yeserday. updates will still be on Sundays, expect the next one, next Sunday the 9th. No promises, though.**


	10. Reserved For Law Agencies Only

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy thinks her to be quite pretentious, though annoying her has it's benefits, and he's secretly starting to enjoy her presence. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

* * *

 **0 1 0**

 **RESERVED FOR LAW AGENCIES ONLY  
[ unedited ]  
** **[ 7.15.17 ]  
** **[ 6,371 words ]**

* * *

 **THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.**

It was a series of consecutive, and very loud noises against the car that finally broke Annabeth out of her virtually dreamless and somewhat disturbing sleep. She drearily wrenched herself from the window she had been hugging (somewhat) while she had been dozing. Her legs felt weak, and so did her arms, and she resisted the urge to massage the kinks in her shoulder, her eyes still mercilessly groggy. Next to her (still some distance away) sat Percy, his body shadowed, his fists just subtly clenched, as was his jaw - and he was holding a gun in his lap. It took a few seconds for this to register, and when it finally did - her head shot up. Out of the corner of her eye, suddenly alert, she realized that the two front seats were empty - and yes, the border between them had been lifted.

The first question she asked was not, "What's going on?" It wasn't, "Where are the two bastards?" and nor was it, "Why do you have a gun?" In fact, she did not ask a question at all. She stated a command, because now she had entered a world where danger lurked in every corner, and she probably could not afford to be hesitant and stupid an surprised. Her father had taught her that much in her youth, and he still was teaching her this now, in his own way.

"Give me a gun." Wordlessly, he reached over into the back pocket of the seat in front of him, and drew out a small, and seemingly light Glock 28. He murmured something along the lines of, "It's reserved for law enforcement agencies only," distractedly (though she had no idea what to do with that information, but silently accuse him of stealing it) before turning away to look out the window, though she noticed that he was angled away from it. She took it, while simultaneously rolling her shoulders around to ease the kinks. The gun felt both heavy and light in her hands - it wasn't too heavy, nor was it too light. She could tell from just holding it that it was loaded, and ready to be used. Getting used to the feeling of the new, bold, black gun in her hands, she looked out the window, careful to leave some distance as she did, just like him. He was somewhat cautious, and if he did it, then it was probably for a good reason. And what she saw was actually both alarming and surprising.

She didn't know why she hadn't realized it before, but it was dark outside. Not completely dark, but there wasn't much light either. It was how it looked when sunset settled, when people went inside their houses, and the fireflies started to light up. It was that sort of dark. They were parked at what seemed like the side of the road, and opposite her, outside the window, was an overgrown, untamed forest. What was alarming was that it had gone dark (when had it gone dark, and why so suddenly? How long had she been sleeping?) and what was surprising was that it had gone _dark_. It was amusing; two different feelings, for the same reasons. The _other_ alarming thing was that, at least ten yards behind them was a rusty truck.

And bullets were being fired out of the driver's window. Her eyes widened in alarm, before turning to her husband. Her wedding dress was no longer between them; it was wrapped in what seemed to be a plastic package and had been pushed into the open flap of the back of the seat in front of her, and she faintly found herself wondering if there were guns in there as well.

And then she asked the question, but not the expected one. "Do we shoot back?" He shook his head without looking at her, his hair in his eyes, playing around with the gun casually in his lap. "Frederick and Poseidon are still in the building, and we're under strict orders not to fight back." Her eyebrows drew together in confusion, taking in the outline of the destroyed building - it looked more like a warehouse, really - on his side of the window.

"How did they get out then?"

"They got out before the shooters started shooting." His lips twisted into a bitter smile at his words. "Shooters. Shooting. Before the shooters started shooting. Get it?" She looked at him, unimpressed.

"There are people trying to shoot us, and you're trying to make a joke?"

"Well, it's not exactly a joke, but - "

"Won't the bullets make dents on the car?" His expression turned serious, which she was grateful for.

"No. This car was borrowed from the FBI - " Borrowed. Sure. Her eyes narrowed, but she did not interrupt. " - and they have a whole array of cars that bullets can't harm. From what our sources told us, the cars were imported from Italy, so we searched for a possible seller, and it turned out that our sources were half-right, half-wrong." He smiled amusedly. "The woman that sold them had a Russian mother and an Italian father - " She raised her eyebrow. That was quite different, but not unheard of." - We initiated her into the gang as soon as we could, and she and a team of people have been working on making hundreds of these cars." Her focus was diverted momentarily.

"Does she do it on her own terms? And what is the car made of, if it can deflect bullets? Material that can successfully deflect bullets is virtually unheard of." She asked curiously, finding this piece of information quite crazy, yet very peculiar and interesting. You didn't see many cases like this in the world. He, on the other hand, looked bored.

"I quote, from another team of scientists that have been investigating it and are on our side, 'The material is shaped out of Carbon nanotechnology yarn, which can deflect projectiles without a trace of damage.' And projectiles include guns. Therefore, this nano-thingy ensures that the car does not get wrecked." Her eyebrow raised a inch higher. "Heard it from a team of scientists we have." He muttered again, looking away from her.

"Doesn't the woman know what her own work is made out of? Couldn't she tell you? Why did you have a team of scientists find out for you instead? And again, I repeat: does she do it on her own terms? _Did_ she do it on her own terms?" His hand flew slowly towards his neck, scratching slowly and awkwardly, without vigor, and he stayed silent for a few moments.

"Chase, you'll have to understand." He ran a hand through his hair. "In the Mafia, everything _matters_. Everything is beyond serious. It's a life-and-death matter whenever you step outside, and inside - " He smiled grimly. " - things are no better. And things have upped many notches because of past events, therefore this thing - " He gestured between the two of them, silently pointing out their, er, relation towards eachother. " - had to happen. And if things were already bad, you won't imagine how bad things have gotten." He said, mulling over his words, and determinedly avoiding her gaze. Annabeth heard and didn't hear all that. But one message was plain and clear.

"This woman. You guys forced her in, didn't you?" A shadow slipped over his face.

"It isn't a matter of me forcing her in, or taking her in willingly - " And suddenly, a few pieces of the smaller puzzles came together. _It wasn't a matter of me forcing her in, or taking her in willingly._ Me _._

"I was told," She said slowly, dread overtaking her insides. "I was told that you had a high position in the - the - one of the Mafias, Los Angelos or New York or whatever. And you just - you said so. You forced her to, didn't you? You needed it, and so you forced her to, _her_ decision be damned."

"Look," he said loudly, his eyes getting darker and darker with a new type in intensity, one she hadn't seen before. He was putting up his defenses. "This matter was put down years ago. It was settled years ago. The girl forgave us for whatever was done to her, and she did her part. She left, but she still makes them for us to this day, willingly. She got over it. If she was able to get over it, I suggest you stick your nosy ass out of business that isn't yours, and - "

"Don't you _freaking_ dare tell _me_ what to do _,_ you _\- "_

"You what? What are you going to call me, huh, Chase? A bastard? A murderer? A psychopath? Another word in your long list of meaningless retorts?" He taunted her, his face getting darker and darker. "Because they will all bounce off me. I don't _care_." He spat, his green eyes gleaming with something monstrous, and this sudden shift in behavior took her aback more than she could admit. "I am a bastard. I am a murderer. I am a psychopath. I am everything bad. I am unbelievably bad. You'll start to understand _that_ soon." He sneered at her, the crease making a dent in his voice, making him look very different.

"Yes," She nodded at him stiffly, her jaw clenched not-at-all subtly, her grey eyes blazing just as much as his, with just as much intensity. "Yes, I can see that. I think I've known that for a long time." _The way I act with you isn't the same way I act with everyone else._

She had suspected this. She remembered meeting that cold, arrogant man that first day in Olive Garden, how she had been able to strip him bare mentally, and how she had found someone entirely different in his eyes. How she had realized that he was many different things.

She wondered, just for a moment, who it was she had been seeing the past few days. Arguing with her, kissing her hand when she bought the cars, vulnerability alight in those emerald green eyes. Now, he was everything the opposite. He had not been lying. She was seeing someone entirely different now.

 _The way I act with you isn't the same way I act with everyone else._

"Did you now?" He was still sneering at her. She did not answer. "I realized it before meeting you. But apparently, actually meeting up with you fucked up my brain, because you were everything I did not expect, but I should have known better." The words were out of her mouth before she could control them, and to add to that, her head was steaming, and she was feeling quite abnormally warm. She ignored how her words sounded particularly naive and vulnerable.

"Boo-hoo for you, Chase," he said in a ugly voice, before a particularly strong _THUMP_! vibrated inside the car, interrupting their pleasant conversation. Annabeth's shoulders immediately tensed, and she noticed how his hands tightened considerably on his gun.

"Should that have worried us?" Annabeth asked, her voice rigid, noting how the beginnings of a worried expression started to overtake his angry face. He forced himself to lay back, but his actions were strained, his eyes focused on the area the bullet had ricocheted off.

"They shouldn't be taking this long," he murmured under his breath, and, looking anxious, looked up at the top of the car. Annabeth took a curious moment to appreciate and wonder about how different his character had become, and yet, how similar he still was to her. He was serious, and he was closed off. He wasn't joking anymore, and he was uneasy - he had transformed into someone entirely different from the man he had been just yesterday.

He was also monstrous.

This was the man who led the Los Angelos Mafia. This was a little bit of how he was used to acting, he how did act - and she both admired it and hated it.

"What are they doing inside?" Percy shot her a sideways glance.

"They're trying to find out if they can get you initiated right now," he said absentmindedly, squirming fitfully in his seat. "They've been gone for at least an hour," he added, his voice stiff, as if remembering she had just got on his nerves and he could, in no terms, be civilized with her.

"I thought your father said that they are very busy - and wouldn't be able to initiate me until later?" She chose not to mention how they had gone into a _wrecked_ _warehouse_ to find out further information on her initiation.

"Well, it seems they skimmed over the fact that you were a Mafia gangleader's wife. And they want to get your training started as soon as possible. You've been taught in your childhood, so your skills should be rusty at the most - " Annabeth pursed her lips at the sound of " _a Mafia gangleader's wife_ ," and decided not to mention how she had almost no memories of being taught self defense, as well as different techniques of fighting when she was young. Yes, there were a few, and she knew she used to do karate, and she could throw a decent punch (her high school years proved that) but - actual fighting? She only distantly remembered something like that...

But then again, there were many empty spaces in her memories of her childhood. Many empty spaces indeed.

"And here they are," Percy said, relief overtaking in his voice, and Annabeth looked out into the direction he was looking at, moving closer in order to do so, and they brushed shoulders a few times. Neither of them seemed to notice. Annabeth's eyes crinkled together. "They're calling us, I think," and Percy looked just as confused as she did.

It was hard to tell through the shady window, and the darkness gathering outside, but the faint outline of two men registered just underneath the teetering roof of the wrecked warehouse was visible to the eye, and the red hair could not be mistaken. Poseidon seemed to be - oh. He was beckoning them into the warehouse.

"I wonder why," Percy said distantly under his breath, before moving so suddenly, his shoulders had direct contact with Annabeth's. Their eyes met for a moment, barely five inches between them.

"I don't hear the sound of them shooting anymore," he breathed, and Annabeth, feeling her insides start to warm, and her heartbeat start to race (it had nothing to do with their close proximity, thank you very much) moved back a few, careful inches. She turned to look out her window.

The rusty truck was nowhere in sight.

"They're gone," she said, but something seemed incredibly off to her. Why would they leave, just like that? "I don't think we're out of the danger zone yet," she murmured.

"We're going to have to make a run for it. There's no other available option,"

"Why would they stop shooting just like that?" Annabeth found this incredibly suspicious, and her mind started to race ahead, examining all the possibilities.

"They haven't left, that's for sure," he stated grimly. "We're going to make a run for it." He said firmly, his voice holding no space for argument. She wasn't going to argue anyway. There was no other alternative, and there was nothing to argue about anyway. He turned towards her, his mouth stretched into a grim smile, his green eyes somehow both unsettling, bitter, and mischievous. "Ready, wifey?"

She had half a mind to snarl at him, but her heart started to race even faster in anticipation. This was the beginning. Everything was starting. This was her first move.

"Shut it, Jackson," she said without much conviction. "We're going together?"

"Together."

It sounded so much like a promise. Annabeth did not have good experiences with promises. She didn't like how it sounded like a promise.

Percy signaled to his father, _we're getting out,_ by gesturing towards them, and then making a sign showing that they were going to get out. His father bowed his head - no, he didn't nod, but he bowed.

After this, Poseidon waited for a few moments, just standing there silently, Frederick next to him.

"He's going to raise his head," Percy said quietly. "That means one. He's going to lower, then raise, that's two, and then lower, until the third time he raises his head. Then," he said, with some sort of excited fervor entering his voice, his green eyes glowing in the darkness with a strange type of happiness, "We make a run for it." Her heart started to beat faster and faster, drumming like a drum, whizzing like a frisbee, as Poseidon raised his head.

Then lowered it.

Raised his head again.

"When we run," he whispered urgently, "Take your gun. When we run, try and get a good look at them, and see if you can shoot them. Got it?" He asked. She nodded, her attention elsewhere, but faintly registering his words anyway.

Poseidon lowered it.

"Get ready, darling," he purred sensually (and who knew why he was trying to be sexy before running for his life?), and they both slid together in the same seat, guns in hand, waiting anxiously, and Annabeth, anticipating the moment they would run, did not bother to go off on him for his use of nickname, or his tone of voice. Her mind raced, her heart raced, her body raced. She was itching for some action. This was going to be hella different.

Poseidon raised his head, at the same time he pressed a button on something, and a loud click of a car being unlocked was heard. In a flash, Percy had her wrist gripped tightly, and he was pushing the door open - and she let him take the lead, because she was new to this and her head and her heart and she herself were all thundering dangerously, and then they were running, running, running, they were both running at the fastest Annabeth had ever run, and she could feel it, the wind both spiking and calming her anxiety, and her anticipation, and she felt good, she felt great, no, she felt amazing, but her heart was heaving, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she was going to slip, she wasn't going to make it -

It was the sound of shots ringing that finally made her make the effort, made her duck, made her push herself to run, to keep on going, and why was she making this so damned dramatic - ? She couldn't exactly turn around and look to where the shots were coming from, because they were coming from everywhere, and she very well could not turn around, that would slow her down and could very well cost her her life. So she pressed her gun hand to her back, and shot, once, twice, thrice, and they rang thunderously. At her side, Percy was smiling maniacally, his hair ruffling wildly in the breeze, and on further inspection, his green eyes sparkling and alight. Shots rang past them, and Percy turned for a moment, and shot a few shots of his own, one, two, three, and Annabeth felt a slight prick at her side, but moved to the right so quickly she didn't even realize it. She and her husband were still connected by the hands, for their hands were still intertwined and then - and then - they made it.

They made it.

They freaking _made it._

She panted as she reached the two men, but Percy wrenched her firmly and pushed her into the side, taking himself along as well, and the two men, looking perfectly composed, quickly pushed themselves to the side as a few dozen gun shots rang out in the warehouse, and whizzed past them.

"That was surreal," Annabeth said, her voice cracking, hands on her thighs.

"That was amazing," Percy grinned, his smile free and open and wide. "I haven't felt that good in weeks." Both Annabeth and Percy suddenly felt a sting in the inside of their elbows. "Compose yourselves, we're going to go meet a fellow delegate in ten minutes," Poseidon growled, and they both immediately straightened out. Annabeth dusted off her tee and dark jeans, and ran a hand through her blonde hair. Percy watched her warily for a few seconds, his excitement melting, his eyes lingering on her hair, on her face, before turning away to inspect himself when Annabeth caught him looking.

She brushed it off, instead turning her attention to Poseidon.

"What do you mean by 'we're meeting a delegate?' And what have you been doing all this time?" She asked, her grey eyes narrowing, turning towards the two older men. They exchanged a look, before Poseidon looked at her long and hard. Instead of answering her, he said something else.

"You're someone important." He said, his green eyes swirling with curiosity, so much similar to his son's. "They've sent people after you. They want you. Do you know why, Annabeth Chase?" His use of her full name, of his serious tone, confused her.

"I'm sorry?" His eyes narrowed.

"You're her daughter, yes, but of what use will you be?" He looked at her beseechingly, curiously, as if she might know the answer, but she didn't even know what he was talking about, much less the answer to his nonsensical questions. Percy stepped up in front of her, almost defensively.

"Of course she's someone important." He growled. "We're all important. Why did you marry me to her, then, if she wasn't?" Annabeth was sure she was missing something here. She pushed Percy to her side. She didn't need him to defend her. He'd done enough today.

"No, I know that, she's important in our standards - " He waved his hand around, and Annabeth didn't miss her father's warning look. "But what do they need her for? They were shooting more for her, than they were for..." He trailed off, assessing her critically.

'Father," Percy said warningly. "You said something about a delegate." Annabeth was sure he was trying to change the topic. Her interest piqued in the subject.

"Make things a little foggier, why don't you?" She said sarcastically. "I have no idea what you're all talking about." Poseidon was still eyeing her suspiciously, but when he next spoke, he let go of the subject.

"We're getting you initiated today, Annabeth."

"I thought - I thought you said we'd have to wait a few weeks into our honeymoon..?" She asked, her mind muddled, confusion overtaking her insides.

"Well, it seems as if things are much more dire than we expected - "

"I'd like to know what the fuck is going on." She said angrily, interrupting her. She ignored her father's astounded look at her use of language, and Poseidon's raised eyebrows. "I am tired of being kept in the dark. What happened, what was up with the shooting, who are we meeting, and _what the hell is happening?"_

Next to her, Percy exasperatedly ruffled his hair. She rounded on him. "Oh, I'm sorry, are my questions bothering you?" She snarled. "Wouldn't you just love it if a group of three men were with you and they know everything about fucking everything, and you know absolutely nothing, and you're being kept in the fucking - "

"Annabeth," Percy said, his eyes widening with realization, as he brought his hands up in front of him. "It's nothing like that. You're getting the wrong impression."

"Am I now?" She seethed.

"I swear to you, it has nothing to do with _that_." Evidently, he had understood what Annabeth was getting at, while the two older men had not; she found it quite insulting that she was the only girl in the group, and therefore was not being told anything for (supposedly) because of her being a girl - but no, that had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

"Annabeth," Poseidon said, not unkindly. "I'm sure it's not what you think it is. You're new to this, and you'll have to understand that," he said firmly. He checked his wrist. "We've got a minute left. Let's go."

* * *

 **ANNABETH WAS ACTUALLY** quite sure that wrecked warehouses did not lead to underground meeting places. If the area they were in could actually be considered a 'meeting place.' It was an endless expanse with metal walls, and the air smelled suspiciously alot like smoke, and the moment they stepped into the room, abandoning the creaking, wooden stairs behind them, a silent buzz went throughout the room.

At the same moment they stepped in, another portly, Russian man stepped in. He wore a small black and white suit, with a thorny red rose pinned to the breast pocket - and Annabeth thought that the red color the rose was was a little - _darker_. There was something different about the color of the rose, something abnormal, and her mind raced ahead of her and - she was sure the rose was the color of blood. Actual blood.

Next to her, something about Percy's stature changed. She could feel it without turning to look at him, and something about the man's gaze made her sure that it would go horribly wrong for her if she did. Every move she made was to be calculated precisely, never to be giving off the wrong vibe - and everything she had almost forgotten the past week because of her husband's _different_ nature came back to her.

Stand tall and proud. Clear your mind, clear your eyes, clear your face. Give the man nothing but cold. Do not give the man anything but the cold. Do not, under any circumstances, show any sort of emotion.

The man bowed his head, but not at her or the two older men. He was particular to bow to Percy, and Annabeth became aware that the two older man had taken their places behind both Annabeth and Percy. She sensed a similar change in their stances as well.

 _"Don."_ The man murmured. Boss. _"Eto bylo davno, master."_ It has been long time, master. Annabeth recognized the language. She had studied this Russian dialect as well as others, French, and Latin for over two years.

"Afansei." Percy acknowledged the man, and Annabeth was sure she had never heard his voice like this every before. Her insides went cold, and her mind went blank - like it was supposed to. She searched the man, assessing him, undermining him and his weaknesses and strengths, without moving her eyes from his face. The man did not look at her; he barely acknowledged her.

"Vy pozvonili?" He asked. _You have called?_

 _"G_ ovorit' na angliyskom, Afansei." Percy growled. _Speak English, Afansei._ "Eto moya zhena," He gestured towards Annabeth. _This is my wife._ Annabeth made sure not to move her jaw; though the urge to clench her teeth was undeniable. "Ona dolzhna uvazhat'sya." _Give her respect._

The man finally turned to look at Annabeth, and she noticed there was something ugly and appreciative in his eye. "My lady," he bowed just slightly, his voice hoarse.

"Net nuzhdy," she said sharply. Her voice was high and cold, the worst she had ever heard it, echoing in the metal room, sounding much more ominous and dangerous that ever. Besides her, she could sense Percy's surprise. She stood up taller, looking down on the man. He shrunk back an inch, his eyes wide. _There is no need. "_ Opusti vzglyad." _Lower your gaze._ She said it quietly, but loud enough to be heard, and she sensed the sudden change in room temperature. _  
_

The man obediently lowered his gaze, his face an immeasurable mask of shock.

"Izvinite, moya ledi," he murmured under his breath. _I am sorry, my lady._

 _"_ Vy budete." _You shall be._

 _"_ Eto razresheno, togda." _That is settled then_. Percy said it with a voice of calm, and beneath it, lurked something different. Something directed towards the man.

"How may I serve you, Moy uvazhayemyy?" _How may I serve you, My respected?_ His English accent was quite different and quite - flavorful, but the accent was not at all right.

He said it while looking at the both of them, careful to keep his gaze between them. His eyes did not stray to the men behind them, who remained quiet. Annabeth senses Percy about to talk beside her, and though the urge to speak first was hard to deny, she let him take control of the situation. She was new to this, she would let them deal with it, she would learn, and then she would take things into her own hands.

"My wife shall be initiated, and we shall need a small group of reinforcements to take us to New York. The Los Angelos and New York Mafias are both quite minor, and as of yet, I can not travel to Siciliy on such short notice. From New York, we shall travel to - " He paused, his voice not hesitant, but controlled. " - a place of our own liking, and from there, we shall travel to Sicily. First, we shall have to initiate her here, and then move on to - " Another pause. "Important things."

Something flared in the man's eyes.

"DA, Don." The man bowed his head even lower. "I was told Master need such reinforcements before, and so I have brought. The ride ready, Don." His English was not entirely correct, and his accent was still very rich in his voice.

"Konechno, Afansei." Percy talked calmly. "I shall also require information, as to what has been going on since my leave of absence." There was something in Percy's voice, something dangerous, something menacing, and Afansei immediately bowed his head even lower, his form trembling slightly.

"Everything ready made for you, Don," he said, shaking. "Glavnyy Don, you shall talk to the Neznachitel'nyy once we are prepared."

Glavnyy Don. _Major Boss._ Neznachitel'ny. _Minor._

"Very well, Afansei," Percy stated, his voice still dangerous. "We shall be going now. You shall lead the way." Annabeth suddenly became aware of the gun at the back of her jeans, shoved into her pocket, against her bottom. She wondered faintly if it would go off and destroy her bum. She found the idea amusing in her blank, free, empty mind.

Afansei, for some reason avoiding their gaze, unsteady on his feet, turned slightly to a specific spot in the metal wall. He tapped on it, his fist shaking, and for a split second, Annabeth had angled his face towards Percy to see his reaction. And what she say made her mind almost blacken. His eyes were gleaming recklessly, his gaze fized on the form of the stout man - and suddenly, Annabeth became very, _very_ aware of the gun in her back pocket. She suddenly had a good idea of what was to come.

She felt so sympathy. He had looked at her as if she had been a piece of meat; appreciatively, as if she were food he wanted to taste.

The man tapped. Twice. Thrice. Then Once. Add that to that first tap, that was seven taps in all. A door formed in the metal wall where it hadn't been there a moment before, the sheen dangerously bright, before it swung open on it's own accord. The man stepped out, and the party of four followed, Annabeth having looked away from Percy. Since they were underground, the door led up to a series of ladder steps, and once climbed, it revealed the glorious night above.

They followed, and when they finally got out, Afansei was waiting at the side, sweating. Percy looked at him clearly. "Did I not say that you shall lead the way, Afansei?" The man squeaked - yes, he squeaked - and he hurried up ahead in front of the party.

Up ahead, waiting for them was a long, black, shiny limo. Inside it, through the open window, four men could be seen, with black sunglasses and smart suits, standing straight and stiff. Afansei led them towards the car, and rapped on the back door. A click could be heard, unlocking the car. He moved aside, and opened the door, revealing luxurious, velvety seats and air conditioning. The night was dark and had blackened considerably since they had entered the building, the shooters from earlier were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that had to do with the fact that had exited from underground, and they were at the back of the building. Yes, perhaps it did.

Percy stopped straight before entering. You turned around, composed, and looked at the two older men, who stood several steps behind Annabeth, fanning out on either sides of her, looking official for some reason.

"You are dismissed," he said carelessly to his father and father-in-law, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched them nod. Then he looked at Annabeth, his eyes turning dark with intensity. He put a hand gently on her hip, inching slowly towards the gun, looking at her with the same intensity and desire, but there was still something else in his eye. He was a changed man now, Annabeth could not afford to forget that. Around other people, he was _this_ man. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, and the hand on her butt pressed against the gun, but did not withdraw it.

She was quite sure he wasn't doing that just to be perverted.

The portly man cringed besides them at the intimate contact. Percy's thumb caressed her cheek gently, and on her own accord, Annabeth fixed a similar, lovestruck, lustful look on her face. "Are you ready, my darling?" He purred at her, his green eyes still gleaming, and while it might seem that he was talking about the ride and the long path up ahead, Annabeth got a different meaning.

He was about to do it. And he was going to make _her_ do it. And at this realization, she came to recognize that bitter look in his eye as he watched her.

She slinked a hand around his neck.

"Yes, I am." Her voice was low. He smiled salaciously at her, and this time, instead of there being dangerous underneath, there was sadness right underneath the surface. She inched her head closer to his, and he did the same, and just as they were about three inches away - she snapped her head back, quickly and swiftly drew the gun.

It was like she was watching herself in slow motion, as she turned and angled the gun to slowly point it at Afansei's head, and then at his neck, where she could severe his artery. But neither of those were good enough options. No, they certainly would not do.

She watched herself, she watched her finger push back the trigger, and she watched as the bullet came racing out, and she watched as she shot Afansei straight in the chest, where his heart should have been.

Where his heart immediately stopped beating.

* * *

 **I have to say, I had tons of fun doing all that Russian. It was a nuisance searching up the correct words on the Internet, but honestly, for the most part, I found it part. The last part, the tense part, the dangerous part - I really enjoyed writing that part. Did anyone like Afansei? I'm curious. I don't care very much for him, and the way he looked at Annabeth at first did not help my thoughts on him. He is a lackey, an inconvenience to me, and so, what had to happen had to happen. He also seemed like a very suspicious person.**

 **He is not needed.**

 **And this is the Mafia. I was searching online today, and that is some serious stuff. A person's rank in the Mafia rises depending on how many people he has killed. And if this person has a grudge against anyone, they can go outside of the Mafia itself and do whatever the hell - as long as he as permission from this Council.**

 **and concerning that i am a week late in publishing this - well, my grandparents have come for the first time and we've gone sightseeing for the past few days. (it's tiring.) not that you care about the excuse, but I thought i'd put it out there :) and i updated a week late, i know, i could have updated tomorrow - but i wanted to put this out there. i finished it today anyway - so why the hell not?**

 **and by the way - i've edited chapters two and three.**


	11. Score One For Annabeth

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy thinks her to be quite pretentious, though annoying her has it's benefits, and he's secretly starting to enjoy her presence. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

* * *

 **0 1 1**

 **SCORE ONE FOR ANNABETH  
[ unedited ]**  
 **[ 7.23.17 date ]**  
 **[ 7,023 words ]**

* * *

 **ANNABETH COULD NOT FEEL ANYTHING.**

She faintly wondered if it was peculiar. This not _feeling_ anything. She was used to not feeling anything, it was pretty much something that she had been taught from her childhood - and yet, this _not feeling anything_ was something different. Something horribly different. This not feeling anything made her feel numb in a completely different way - it made her feel raw and silent and just unable _to feel anything._

She wondered why she had done it. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn't. So what Percy had told her to - what had the man done to come to such an end? What had pushed her, in that split second, to make that decision without thinking?

She had taken a human life. That was - _this_ was - she - she had no words. This was crazy. This was - this was not something she had ever meant to do. Ever. Not in her whole life. _So why had she done it?_ What had urged her to pull the _fucking_ trigger?

Annabeth leaned back in the velvet seat, keeping her hands from shaking. It took a whole lot of effort to keep them from shaking. She stared ahead, her eyes blank, her mind blank, but her chest heaving silently. She looked calm.

She was not calm. She found it very hard to breathe all of a sudden. She leaned to her left to press down a button, effectively pulling down the window, and on her right, his gaze not having escaped her since they had slid in, Percy stretched to his right and pressed a button - creating a border between the four guards up front and them. Faintly, she came to realize that neither her father, nor her father-in-law had joined them - she had caught their gazes when she had slid in with Percy. Poseidon had been watching her, his gaze unwavering, his green eyes emotionless, his posture rigid and stiff, and next to him, had stood her father, his stance a similar one to her father-in-law.

She would never forget the horror, the absolute _horror_ that overtook his face like a void swallowing everything, in that split second before she closed the door. She would _never_ forget that _horror_ , and looking at that horror, brought some horror to herself.

What had she done?

As soon as the border had closed up, Percy lightly settled his hand on her right thigh, and pressed down gently. His gaze was not soft, and it was not hard - and again, she found herself faintly wondering something else - did he expect her to cry? Was she expected to cry? Did people cry after killing someone, after taking a human life, after ridding the world of a human soul?

She realized there was a warning in his eyes, in his touch, when she came to think of it, again and again. He was lightly tracing things on her right thigh, and his fingers were much more urgent on her than they would have been if he had just been doodling - and so, pushing aside the rawness to concentrate on what he was doing, her insides numb, she sat silently, waiting to get the message.

 _W_ _—_ _E_

 _A_ _—_ _R_ _—_ _E_

 _B_ _—_ _E_ _—_ _I_ _—_ _N_ _—_ _G_

 _W_ _—_ _A_ _—_ _T_ _—_ _C_ _—_ _H_ _—_ _E_ _—_ _D_

Then, he left his hand there, pressing gently but doing nothing else - and she almost found it a source of comfort.

"That was some excellent Russian back there," he said quietly.

"I learned a few languages in school," she said stiffly. He sighed almost inaudibly.

"You should get some sleep, Chase. It will take many hours to get to Santa Cruz, and you'll need some rest before you meet up with the Black Wine." She looked up, her eyes dull, eager to push away the pain. He did not look at her with sympathy or pity - in fact, there was a dark understanding in his eyes. "We will have to discuss some - things - " He said hesitantly, and she turned to look out the window, knowing fully well what was to be discussed.

She gave a careless acknowledgement of his words, though inside, she was anything but careless. "Hm."

" - when we get home. In Santa Cruz."

"Yes," she said wearily. He did not say anything after this, but he leaned back, his hand still on her thigh - and she moved it. Her thigh. She moved it away from his touch, and his hand fell off - except now, there was some other part of him touching her - his arm, or his hand, or whatever it was - Annabeth wasn't sure. She was much more interested in the darkness outside—in the endless void of nothing and everything, of no light and only dark. No good, but only evil.

"It's late," he murmured somewhere close to her ear, but she did not listen - she was watching the outside world, watching the darkness, looking for the stars, looking for the light in the darkness. But there were no stars where she could see. There was no light in the darkness.

She kept wide, wide awake - even after hearing light snores ensuing from her right. No thoughts churned in her head, nothing was thought over, nothing was talked over - her mind was blank, she was blank, her chest was an endless expanse of nothing, of nothing, never anything—and her heart was blank.

She saw no stars for the rest of the night, no light in the darkness for the rest of the night, and the only thing that was comforting in the least was the man snoring lightly beside her. And now, even he was not enough. For he was the reason she was this empty. He was the reason - he would be the reason, he would always be the reason - that she could never again, be human.

* * *

 **SHE DID NOT SLEEP AT ALL.** Even when Percy started to come around, and the night reached it's darkest, crickets chirping loudly and (to Annnabeth) quite woefully, she did not feel inclined to sleep in the slightest. It was when Percy's hand knocked into her shoulder and he sat upright, looking dazed, and Annabeth looked in her lap for no actual reason - and her eyes beheld the gun.

The gun that she had taken a human life with. She had become so unfeeling, it had become so unfeeling - she had become unaware of the - this - _thing_ that she held in her hands, cupped in her palms, as if it was a fragile thing made of glass, as if it was a thing to be cared for. Her hold tightened on the gun. It was most certainly not a thing to be cared for. No, it was not. It could never be. It was the gun's fault. The gun had taken a life. A human life.

 _No, Annabeth,_ a voice whispered inside her, a conscious voice that she was aware of. _It was you_.

It was her. It was her who had killed the man, it was her who had urged the gun into action, it was not the gun's fault. And at this realization, the numbness turned into pain, pain and pain and pain, a deep burning, aching starting in her chest, and spreading everywhere, her body dreary, her mind dreary, her heart dreary, her soul dreary, and in pain because why was she burning like this, why was she aching like this, why, why why? No, she deserved this—she deserved this horrible, awful feeling of pain, oh she most definitely deserved this dark, dangerous feeling, for she had killed a human soul, she had killed - she had taken a human soul -

"Annabeth?"

She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry in loud, heaving, bursting sobs, a way of crying she had not done since she had been three—for her father had taught her crying loudly was a sign of giving up, crying loudly was a horrible thing, and crying at all was a thing to be disgusted. Tears were an abomination. A fucking abomination they were, and they should not be a thing, crying was disgusting, horrifying, and should not be done—but she wanted to cry, oh how she wanted to cry, first loudly, loudly and loudly and then louder, in huge, heaving, sobs, to erupt into tears and let the pain and the water and the aching gush out and leave her, leave her empty—

 _"Annabeth?"_

She was not Annabeth anymore; she turned to tell him so, but she found she could not move, but then it came to her all over again; it was his fault she had killed; his fault, his fault, his fault, he had looked at her with those, those wretched things in his eyes, those wretched emotions, those dastard things, and she had felt the urge to do so, to do what she had known was coming, and then she had done it, she had done it, _she had done it,_ and it was _all his fucking fault._

And these thoughts were what finally made her turn to look at him, anger and accusation swirling in her eyes, but then she remembered those dastard emotions in his eyes when he had urged her silently to do so, moments before she had actually done it—that undeniable, underlying layer of bitterness and sadness in his eyes of having her innocence corrupted by taking a human life, a human soul—

And then she could no longer look at him with accusation, but with contempt, and a eerie emptiness. He did not sigh at the look on her face, but the weary look in his eyes was replaced by nada, absolutely nothing, of an endless area of nothing, and then he was leaning his head back, closing his eyes for a moment or two, his hand ruffling his hair—and then he determinedly opened them, before moving back to his right, and pressing a button, and the border between them and the guards or drivers or whatever the _fuck_ they were, Annabeth did not care anymore—and he said in a loud, authoritative, ringing voice, "Stop by the nearest hotel, we'll be spending the night there. We shall continue our journey in the morning."

Silence echoed in the limo, and all four guards stiffened, and did not dare to look at eachother or behind them, so all they could do, was nod politely in unison.

"Sir," one man's voice came politely. "We are nearest to the Sheraton Grand Los Angeles. Is that fit?"

"Yes, that seems suitable." He threw a weary glance at Annabeth, who was staring at something into the distance, something that seemed to be right next to him. "How much time shall it take?"

"About twenty five minutes."

"Are we anywhere near New York yet?"

"About three hours to go, Sir."

"Thank you." Percy turned and put the border up once again.

"Another twenty-five minutes darling," The words Percy had traced onto her thigh came back to Annabeth for a moment, _WE ARE BEING WATCHED_. She nodded at him but did not say anything else. He looked at her meaningfully, and she nodded again, and looked away.

What was he going to say? Nothing was going to dull the pain. Nothing.

* * *

 **BETWEEN GETTING OUT OF THE CAR AND ENTERING THE HOTEL,** only one thing was able to just about distract Annabeth from the nothingness inside her. And that very distraction came in the form of a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, seeming to be older then Annabeth, with hair streaked with green.

"I'd like to reserve a room please," Percy said lowly, his eyes straying first to Annabeth, then to the darkness beyond, where all the guards were waiting from him. Annabeth wondered faintly if they would wait there all night.

"Yes, I'm sure you would," the woman answered disinterestedly, swaying boredly on the spot as she typed something up on her laptop. "Do you have a reservation, sir?" She poked her head out of her laptop, looking both agitated, but still somehow blank. And as her eyes skimmed Percy's face, a spark of recognition flared. Her eyes widened.

 _"Percy Jackson?"_ She stared, openmouthed. "How - what - ?" Her gaze traveled to Annabeth, and it seemed, that her mouth dropped even lower. "Annabeth _Chase_?" Her voice was almost a squeak. Annabeth tried to give her a smile - but only managed a grimace trying to be forced at both edges of her mouth. "What is - What?" She stuttered.

"We'd like to reserve a room please. The both of us." Annabeth said pleasantly (as pleasantly as she could) and it came out quite steady. Percy snaked a stiff hand around her hip, his golden wedding back shining for a moment. The lady's gaze followed.

"How many rooms?" Her voice shook as she turned back to her laptop, her gaze turning from Percy to Annabeth and back to the laptop over and over again.

"One room will be fine. One bedroom." She looked startled, but did not comment. Annabeth's fists clenched. No, she would not like to share a bed with Percy tonight. She was tired, she was exhausted, and she was spent - though she was quite aware that nothing much had happened to make her like this. Or at least, it seemed nothing much had happened.

A few, silent moments passed, filled only with the woman's relentless clacking on her laptop. Finally, when her head went up uneasily, her hand grabbled around for a drawer, before leaning down and wrenching it open, shoving things around, looking for something. When her head popped back up, she handed them the key and card for room 307.

"It's on Level three." She reached over for a pamphlet, before handing it to Percy, who had taken the key and card. "Have a pleasant night." She said easily, but Annabeth did not miss how her eyes zoomed from her to Percy, and then to their rings. They headed towards the elevator, attracting odd looks from nearby people.

Percy pressed the button - and Percy was doing everything, wasn't he? He was the one ordering things, ordering one reservation, one bedroom, taking the key, taking the card, doing everything. It annoyed her to no end because she was only hanging off his arm. Her jaw clenched subtly as they stepped into the elevator - and it was only when she caught her reflection that she realized that both she and Percy were all in black. That must have been why people had been staring.

Once they had both stepped into the elevator, Percy looking straight ahead, twiddling absentmindedly with the key, Annabeth moved as close as she could to the wall - away from Percy. Whether he noticed this or not, she could not tell - her gaze was resolutely fixed forward. It took a few, long moments of stretching silence before the elevator started rising, and then another, few, longer moments as the elevator peacefully went up one level, two levels, and finally, three levels. And finally, when they stepped out, Annabeth took the card and key from Percy without turning to look at him, her jaw still clenched, and stalked forward determinedly, her eyes raking the number plates of the rooms.

301...302...303...and then there was 304, she was getting closer now, Percy being several steps behind her...305..306...and finally, 307. She slid the card in into the slot, and turned the key, and the door opened, revealing the darkness inside. She turned the lights on.

For a moment, she pushed aside the numbness, the sadness inside of her, too taken by her surroundings. There was no denying that the interior was gorgeous - the room was mostly accented black and white, and as the light came down upon it, the light flickered like a candle from the chandelier up on the ceiling. There was a large, king-sized bed in the middle, with fluffy white comforters, and two large pillows. At the side of the bed was a bold black door, and on taking a curious step closer, Annabeth discovered that there were empty hangars and racks inside of it. It was a closet - and it's size was unknown, considering Annabeth wasn't near enough to figure it out. In front of the closet was a long, huge window, giving complete access to the dark night outside, and black accented curtains, covering most of it. In frotn of the window lay a long, black, velvety sofa.

She dropped the key and card on the nearest table, and spread out the curtains, before brutally shoving her boots off and chucking them at the door. She wondered faintly how her heels were faring. She then sat at a corner of the bed, her thighs brought up to her chin, and looked out the window.

Yes, she was quite painfully aware of Percy leaning against the doorframe, watching her, Percy closing the door shut, Percy turning off the lights so only the light the night provided shined through. She heard him slowly pry off his shoes, chuck his shirt over the top of his head, and then gently sit on the bed, facing her. And yes, she was quite aware that he was moving towards her now, slowly inching, crawling to sit in front of her and peer at her, his gaze intense. Her gaze was focused at the night outside.

First, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, turning to look at the night and beyond, like her too. He ruffled his hair, and Annabeth turned to look at him finally, her gaze gray and cold on him. It was then she became painfully aware of his half-naked self. But, she did not blush. She looked at him, took him in, but then simply focused on his face shamelessly, until he finally turned to look her in the eye.

"Chase," he said, and he sighed, and his voice was so tired and old and ancient, that she looked at him curiously. "That was your test." She stiffened.

"What was my test?" She asked, an edge to her voice. In answer, his hands strayed towards the back pocket of his pants, and took out two guns. She didn't even care about how he had sneaked it through the sensors, and had managed to tuck them in without letting them be seen. He laid his gun in his lap, before slowly reaching out and putting her gun on her lap. She looked at it in disgust, as Percy's face moved towards her. His voice was low, and symphonic in the darkness, somehow not gentle, but not rough. Somehow lilting and comforting.

"Killing the man was your test." He said finally. She flinched, but her gaze did not stray away from him. If anything, the glare in her eyes intensified by a tenfold. "Look Chase, I know, _I know_ it was your first time ever. And I - " He hesitated, and her glare seemed to prod him on. "I know how it feels," he said quietly. The first time I did that - the first time I took a life - " His voice trailed off miserably. "It was...worse than what you did today. The way I took a life is the most - the most gruesome - " His voice broke, and she looked away from him, forcing herself to keep her eyes from getting even the least bit glassy. Here was a piece of the man she had gotten used to the past week. The vulnerable, open man, that had turned into a monster today, a monster who, in turn, had turned her into another monster.

"It was your fault," and her voice was cold, as cold as an icicle. "You made me." It seemed to be on the edge of breaking, but yet, as frosty as she could make it.

"If it helps you feel any better," his voice turning strict in the darkness, and some of the moonlight came into the room, somehow illuminating him for one split second, illuminating his carved chest and rippling muscles, his blank and bitter eyes, and sad, gorgeous mouth. "If it helps you feel any better, Chase," he says, catching her attention, and his form seemed to take her breath away for a moment, before the moonlight faded. "Then let me tell you what sort of man you have killed today."

Silence. She did not move, not talk, not do anything. He, on the other hand, had a desperate, almost dark look about him, watching her with something gleaming in his eyes. "Afansei is something akin to a pimp. Afansei leads a ring of prostitutes, and he proceeds to abuse them sexually on a daily basis. The ring is a mix of both males and females. He has killed several of them when they did not hasten to meet his needs to his content, he has sold several of them to far worse masters that have broken them more than he could have. He has his own brand of alcohol, and enough of it can make your lungs wither and die out. And," he said slowly, meeting Annabeth's gaze with a dangerous look. "He was not the man that was to meet us today. The man that was to meet us today was his cousin, also his stepbrother. Instead, his stepbrother's body was found at the bottom of the Nile River."

Annabeth had frozen.

Percy went on, his voice musing. "The Nile River is in Egypt, which is quite some distance away from here. Why he chose this river defeats me, but if there was not a group on a mission there, then the body would not have been found for ages past. It must have been quite smart idea, I suppose." It was after this musing remark that he turned to observe Annabeth's reaction. "Do you still feel bad, Darling?" His voice was dark, yes, but curious, innocent, like a child's. Uptight, a bit.

"He could've - could've had another chance at things," Annabeth said quietly, her mouth trembling, her insides shaking, vile threatening to come up her throat. Her mind was processing these things very quickly, and - she did not know how to react.

"Sweetheart," Percy stretched out the syllables, his voice both amusing and amused. "Sweetheart, he's been convicted six times, and was put to Santo Stefano, Latium innumerable times. Do you know hoe far one has to go to get there? Why, even I can't get a ticket there just yet. There's a long line of visitors waiting."

Annabeth was still staring openmouthed, the dull pounding in her chest decreasing more and more by the second, a raging fire being nursed instead in the empty hearth of her chest. "Are you telling me - that the man I killed - ? I - what?" She stuttered. Percy moved even closer to her, his raven black hair in his eyes, his green orbs shining gorgeously in the darkness, entrancing her. He spread out his right leg, just lightly, but tantalizingly touching Annabeth on the hip. He reached over to caress her right cheekbone with his large thumb, before going down to tightly grasp her chin. She did not shake herself out of his grip. His left hand pressed around her hip, and their legs touched completely as he moved just a bit closer.

You'll have to understand, Annabeth," and his voice was just as musing as before, as if he was saying a casual something, passing by, " - that the amount of kills one makes is what earns you respect in the Mafia. The horrendous things you do, like violence, creating war, getting into scuffles, killing people - these are what matter. The amount of heartlessness you have inside you," he pressed his left palm to her chest, " - is what earns you respect. Bad things aside, bad history aside, your money and your pile of dead corpses is what earns you a title, what earns you respect." He continued, gently seizing a blonde lock of hair. "Until you spoke up rather cruelly, Afansei looked at you ravishingly," he breathed near her, his eyes clouded, " like you were a piece of meat. That is one thing, that, in the moment, spurred you to kill him, No, not all of it was my doing," he added, his voice angry for a moment.

"For us, for you, what will bring you up to my status, despite being already up there by connections," he pushed the lock of hair behind her ear, his touch like a caress. "Is killing. I want you to remember, that every person you see around you in your enemy. Everyone has killed an innocent, everyone has done bad, bad things. You have to brutal, and as a woman, this will be harder to do." At Annabeth's raising eyebrow, he quickly said, "I'm just stating the truth, Chase." When there seemed to be no change in her expression, he went on.

"In the Mafia, the women are respected, but either they are things to hang upon your arm for show, or they are playthings, or they are precious things to be protected. A member, when officiated, is not allow to touch, or even look at another's man's women crudely. It is something like this that can get you killed." He paused, and Annabeth looked outraged for a second, gulping down the shock. Percy smiled unconvincingly. "Of course," he said, raising his hands up a bit, "we have women working for us as well. Many of them are brave, bad-ass, and everything in between - but that is how most of the Mafia used to work, and somewhat still does to this day." He raised his hands a bit. "This does not necessarily mean that I agree with them. I've seen enough of you to know that." Now, his hands were mocking here, and she leaned back a bit in his hold, her gaze raking through him passively.

"Today," he murmured, and his gaze intensified, and his palm slid down to her chin, tilting her face up stubbornly. "Today, was your first kill. Your first score. Score one for Annabeth, hallelujah," he said sarcastically. "I want you to stop feeling so fucking bad, and get on with life. This is what is coming for you. This is your life now. And there is nothing else to it."

His voice lowered.

"I was born into this life, sweetheart," he whispered furiously. "But my skills remained dormant until things set off a chain reaction to it. I see a similar behavior in you, love," he purred quietly. "And feeling bad about spilling tainted blood will not be something anyone will stand for. I am telling you this, and believe it. _Do_ believe it. You'll start to understand this life soon."

His palm slid down to her neck, and he wrapped his hands gently around the side, not choking her, but his voice and his hold unrelenting. Slowly, her grey eyes blazing against his glowing green ones, she firmly wrapped her hand around his hold on her neck, lowering her legs into a cross-legged position. Her hold tight and firm, she lowered his hand, and he stared at it, and then at her, just as it gave an ugly pulse.

He smirked at her, because of the pain. "I told you so, darling. You were made for this life."

And he leaned over and pressed a heated, butterfly kiss to the left side of her neck, and down. She remained still, in shock. It was only when he pressed a kiss to the edge of her cleavage, that she pushed him away, the bottom of her stomach burning wildly. He gave her one last, bitter, arrogant smirk before her turned over to his side of the bed, wrapping his hands around his chiseled self, closing his eyes.

It was for what seemed like another hour before she could finally lay on her side, and close her eyes without seeing the picture of her gun, and hearing the echoing voice of Percy's explanation of Afansei's character. And then, there was still a pounding headache, splitting her head open.

And at late it was in the night, it was still another long hour later, before she could drift off to an uneasy sleep. And even then, it remained unstable. She drifted in and out, in and out, of consciousness.

As for Percy - well, his green, now bloodshot eyes stared out blankly into the darkness until dawn crept in. Even when he lightly wrapped himself around Annabeth, pulling his leg around her hip, giving him comfort, giving him a feeling to replace the emptiness inside, he could not sleep until dawn rolled in, and the sun started to creep out. In fact, it was when Annabeth finally fell into an long, deep, actual sleep, and relaxed against him, that he could finally drift off, in the faze of the rising sun.

* * *

 **WHEN ANNABETH WOKE UP,** she had unlimited space in the soft folds of the comfortable bed that was not her's, and her face was burning. She opened her eyes an inch, squinting against the sunlight cascading in from the large window, before turning to her side, closing her eyes again, her right hand searching wildly for skin to slap and awake and ask.

It was only when her hand met bare air, that she finally cracked her eyelids open more than an inch, and fully investigated the scene.

The bed was made up - and yes, the whole bed - and she was under neatly pressed and folded covers. The space next to her was most unruffled and smooth, and the pillow did not have an impression, telling her that half the bed was long empty, besides the part her hand had disturbed. She stared at it, lifting herself up on her elbows, feeling irritable. Where was he this early in the damned morning?

She roughly pushed away the thick covers, and squinting wildly, she shoved the curtains over the sunlight, and she was on-so-grateful that they were mercifully black. She rumpled her hair grumpily, before turning to the mirror, where she almost choked on her own dry spit.

Her hair looked like a rat's nest. And she didn't even have a comb to tame the wild things. Where would they get her things? Did anyone stop to think about this? Fuming silently, she stepped towards and into the large, marble bathroom, and washed her face - the hotel had mercifully put in clean toothbrushes and toothpaste for anyone that would stay, so she was able to clean up to some extent.

After thoroughly brushing, she leaned against the back of the sink, wondering faintly if she should take a shower. She was starving, yes, but that would have to wait for later. She felt dirty, both on the outside and the inside, and even if a shower wouldn't fully do the trick, it would help to some extent.

Making up her mind, she stripped out of her mournful, black clothes and her underclothes - Thalia would love them, she realized amusedly, and somehow, the thought of Thalia made her feel morbid. Shaking her head, she left her black clothes and underclothes on the floor, and stepped into the stone basin, stretching to turn it on.

She stood in the middle, her back gloriously bare and open to the outside world - she was sure she had closed the door - as she gently, smoothly lathered on the contents of a bar of soap, before rinsing it off. She turned the water to cold, as per her usual routine, and turned around, letting the water spill down her back gracefully, coolly, wetting her hair, making it stick to her back, She raised her hands, closed her eyes, and pushed her hands into her hair, making sure the water got everywhere.

It was beyond refreshing. It felt like a revival.

When she took a foot out, and then put out the other, before quickly grabbing her towel - oh the hardships of showering - and wrapping it around herself, she walked through and out the door - smack right into a very much familiar form.

At first, she did not register his face. All she could see was that he had a new, clean black shirt and it wasn't the same one as yesterday. So forgetting that the only thing covering her dripping naked body was a towel, she stepped forward and prodded him threateningly, while he looked at her, evidently dumbstruck.

"Perseus Jackson, you absolute asshole," she said in a low voice, putting her hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes. "What the fuck do you expect me to wear if I have brought absolutely nothing? Huh? What the hell am I supposed to wear?" Looking taken aback, and now quite uncomfortable, considering his squirming, he took a hesitant step back.

"Well," he trailed, trying very hard not to stare at her, and keep a stable, mischievous look on his face. "You could always not wear anything,"

"You asshat!" She raged, her voice atypically loud and filled with anger, as opposed to her usual cold self. "Get me some damned clothes!"

"Yeah," he held his hands up, looking very much small and threatened.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it, will do, calm down, calm down.." He scurried out the open door and she watched him, before going back inside the bathroom, and sitting stiffly on the toilet seat.

* * *

 **WHEN HE CAME BACK FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER,** two shopping bags in hand, looking uneasy, she stood up, crossing her arms, trying to ignore how he was staring at her, unashamed. She grabbed the bags from it - and was glad to find nearly decent clothing. But they were all black. They were all black and black black. Sure, she loved wearing black, but could he not find anything at least plaid, or grey?

She held up an over-sized, sleeveless, light, sweater dress (a black one) blue denim jeans (that did not match, but whatever, Annabeth was just happy to have clothes) , and yes, you guessed it, black underclothing. Plain black sports bra lined with white, plain black underwear - and holding it up, she stared at him unashamed. "It was quite considerate of you to get these, Jackson," and to her utter surprise - he was _blushing_ , Percy jackson was _blushing_.

"Are you blushing?" She asked, astonished, at his behavior. He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling, his face going light red.

"Well, at least you didn't get the fancy kind," she murmured under her breath, before telling him to get out. He scurried out faster than even a mouse. For a moment, she watched him leave, quite astonished and comprehending. This was the whore, the player, Perseus Orion Jackson himself. He had not brought her lingerie (she didn't want them, of course, she just expected him to do such a thing) and he had not looked her up and down like a pervert - which was exactly what he was. He did not screw around in the least - and again, coming from a professional player, that was quite surprising.

Quite surprising indeed, she thought to herself as she pushed the denim jeans up to her legs. As soon as she was finished, she stalked imperiously out of the bathroom, and headed towards where she had thrown her boots against the previous night, pulling them on. And then, finally turning towards Percy, one hand on her hip, she said, "Come on, shitbreath, let's go, I'm starving." He looked mildly surprised at her words - but then again, he had been looking at her as if she was a fucking ticking bomb. Now why was that?

He crinkled his nose at the nickname, and glared at her (albeit hesitantly) for a second, before springing up from where he lay on the bed, stowing the card away in his pocket, along with the key.

"Come on, Miss Sunshine." he said, still looking rather taken aback, but mocking. "Let's go." He held out an arm, and she took it tightly, sneering at him, her boots thumping on the floor.

* * *

 **THE HOTEL HAD IT'S OWN BREAKFAST BUFFET,** which was where Percy took her. They no longer linked arms (which had just been a taunting joke) and nor did they hold hands, but they kept a carefully precise between them, not too far, where they would seem like strangers, and not close enough to touch eachother fully - just close enough to give off the vibe, or the impression, that they were more than just friends. They jabbed at eachother all throughout their walk, but remained awkwardly quiet in the elevator, their alone time unsettling the both of them.

It was when they both sat down in the buffet, that their talking finally turned serious and to the point.

"When you talk in public places such as these, you'll have to watch your words," Percy murmured under his breath, and Annabeth felt the urge to snap at him. She was not a child, thank you very much, and neither was she naive and stupid. She had accepted that almost nowhere was safe.

As she waved over a waitress lazily, she asked him, "What are we doing today, darling?" And yes, her tone was very much mocking and snippy. He looked at her with contempt.

'We're leaving for New York the moment we're done with breakfast. From New York," He hesitated here. "We've got some business in New York," she faintly recalled him telling Afansei that she would be getting initiated in New York, and though the memory of Afansei sent a small prickle to her chest, she was mostly unaffected. The memory seemed dull, distant, far away. " - we shall travel to Santa Cruz, to the place my father rented out." At the look on Annabeth's face, he hurried to add, "It's not as huge as the one we lived in the past week. No, the structure is a bit smaller, but it seems comfortable, from what he says," he said the last few words almost absentmindedly. "That's where we'll spend our honeymoon. Supposedly, we're supposed to spend a month there, but we'll have to move on to other things," he said, sounding firm.

"Our plans to go to - " He lowered his voice. "The last place I mentioned to the man yesterday," he added discreetly, and she understood it meant Sicily. She felt silly about the way they were communicating. "Are not confirmed. So we shall have to plan our way through when we get to Santa Cruz. Are you good with this?" He asked seriously.

She nodded slowly, eyeing the waitress coming back with a plate of waffles.

As she not-so-subtly shoved the food down her throat, Percy stared at her. "Try not to eat so much," he said testily. She immediately stopped eating, and food still in her mouth, her eyes narrowed, suddenly looking quite vicious. "Excuse me?" She asked, deathly silent.

"We're moving to a truck today," he said, as if that was the answer to everything. She shrugged at him.

"How's that related to how much I eat?" She asked, eyes still narrowed.

"Well," Percy trailed. 'We're practicing knife-throwing, your bow and arrow capabilities, your shooting accuracy, your capacity, how well you can shoot a gun, what gun you're most comfortable you're using, what knife you throw most agilely, and etc. etc. etc. Not in order, of course," he added at the dumbstruck look on her face, having frozen mid-chew.

"Sitting around, sleeping all day, this is not going to work. This morning, I've arranged for a truck to pick us up and take us till New York, and then again to Santa Cruz, all the while, we straighten out your do's and don'ts. It'll be good practice, love," he says quietly, his malicious smirk a queer contrast to his silent tone.

She suddenly lost her appetite.

So she decided to (discreetly) shove the pancakes in his face instead.

* * *

 **i was actually going to make one last part, where annabeth started practicing and all, but honestly, i want to get my updates back in track - it's been horribly off track for the past two weeks. this is the first time in a while that i'm actually doing it (somewhat) in time. now, this chapter needs editing bad. real bad. it's very easy to overlook the mistakes when i'm so into writing when i'm writing, and don't look them over until I type up a whole bunch. i will have to edit them some time, though. and on the bright side, this chapter is bigger than the last one! i got something done :)**


	12. Of Molecules And Particles

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy thinks her to be quite pretentious, though annoying her has it's benefits, and he's secretly starting to enjoy her presence. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **HE CIRCLED HER AS SHE FIXED HER POSITION** into something that suited her. She bent her right knee just a bit, kept her left food steady on the ground, held the gun with both hands, and her eyes followed the frozen target with a sharp gaze. He stopped just behind her, keeping a good amount of distance away from her—which Annabeth found she was quite grateful for. She didn't need him distracting her. He spoke from behind her.

"There are three types of wildly-known shooting stances. Your stance somewhat resembles the Weaver Stance, I suppose, but I think you're going more towards the rigid arm shooting stance, which isn't very common. But the Weaver stance isn't the most reliable position you can take—and neither are the other two. The rigid arm shooting stance is fine but does not provide the best means of defense, and shooting may be shaky with both hands." She could feel him inspecting her from behind, and this disrupted her focus a bit, but she firmly ignored him. She could somewhat understand what he was saying, follow his words and means. Of course, she did not understand shit about what the 'Weaver Stance,' was, and what the 'Rigid Arm Shooting Stance', was, and she desperately wished he would tell her, because she hated not knowing something, or even having someone know something that she did not know.

"The first stance," he stated, his voice low, dark, and professional (and shaky, because the truck was not at all stable enough) " - is the Isosceles Stance." She spoke before she could control herself.

"I'm supposed to become a fucking triangle, am I now?" She asked sarcastically, and he gave her a particularly annoyed jab in the back. She resisted the urge to kick his knee. "Shooting with a hot head is going to make you miss your opponent, and if you miss your opponent," he said, his voice particularly sharp. " - you're going to die. At the moment, we're not quite ready to lose you as of yet, so I would advise you to make sure you don't get yourself killed just yet."

"Oh, important when I'm needed am I? And when you bastards are done using me?" She asked mutinously, shaking away a stray piece of hair from her face. Behind her, Percy's gaze leveled with her head, looking dangerously steady for a moment.

"I'd rather not answer the question," and Annabeth rolled her eyes, not caring for subtlety. Her chest tightened for a moment, knowing that she would be discarded as garbage when they were done using her—but oh, she could take good care of herself, could she not? And it was when his breath fanned the back of her neck that she realized that he was not quite done answering her. "But I suppose I will if you want me to," he breathed. "Of course, you're easily disposable when it comes to my father, and everyone else, but" and instead of focusing on his close proximity to her (which she was quite aware of, thank you) she came to realize how he carefully avoided saying her father's name.

She wasn't quite sure about whether she should be grateful for him going slow on her, or angry because of him babying her. She did not need to be babied. She chose to remain silent and fuming. But all thoughts of her father faded away when she heard his next words, uttered right against her ear, and it was then Annabeth realized that a shadow of his form was faintly touching her's, and his hands were just inches away from her hips, and though he wasn't touching her, she could feel chills going up her spine at the shadow of contact.

"—when it comes to me," he breathed. "I think I'll keep you around." And then she felt a particular pull on a strand of hair, and pursing her lips, she jabbed her left leg out and kicked him in the knee quite brutally. She couldn't help the sense of utter satisfaction that came over her when he let out a small, pained, "oomph."

"Focus, Jackson!" She snarled viciously. "I think I'd like to keep myself alive more than you and your father do, so please, do talk," and her words gave off the vibe that she either did not believe his statement, or she plain ignored it. Whatever he thought, it seemed he got the jab, for when he next spoke, his voice was disgruntled, and there was a slightly undertone of frostiness.

"There's too much tension," he murmured near her ear, evidently having recovered quickly. "I'm just breaking some of it. It's great fun, you should try it sometime," and before she could jab at him again, or move him away, he pulled back of his own accord. He quickly reformed back to his former position, or more like, moving position, walking around her, inspecting her...and she faintly wondered if she could use him as a moving target instead of the large crate with a red circle painted on it.

He gave her a moment to regain and resume her former position, before speaking. "Firstly, the Isosceles stance." He moved to her left side, still behind her. "I'm quite sure that it's also considered the _'Power Isosceles Stance'._ It's the the easiest to do, and it comes very naturally, as it's a two-hand stance, so you use it with both hands." He looked at her sharply. "Are you getting all this?"

"Power Isosceles: two hand stance. Got it that far." She said passively. "I'd rather you write this all down for me to memorize when you're done," she added snarkily. When she moved from her position, he immediately burst in strict protests. "No, stay where you were, I'm going to fix you up from there," and she looked at him sharply, before doing as he said.

"There's not much required out of this stance," he said, resuming his circling her. "For this stance, you will have to face the target squarely with your feet spread out at a shoulder-width distance, and bring the gun up directly in front of your eyes with a tight grip on the gun - and remember, you are using _both hands._ Both arms should be kept at full extension. This will keep your head fully upright and allows maximum peripheral vision while easily centering the pistol with your eyes."

"My feet will be level with my shoulders?" She asked, distracted, ignoring how she did not like to ask questions about things she should know.

"Yes." He answered professionally. "You won't be putting strain on your legs, or the inside of your thighs, so movement will be easy to make. Now, I'm going to repeat that, and I want you to adjust yourself as perfectly as you can. Understand?" When she did not answer, he continued. "Face the target squarely. Spread your feet out at a level distance, in width of your shoulders. Using both hands, grip the gun tightly." She carefully, levelly, faced her target, and spread her feet out the amount asked of her - or of what she judged it to be. She gripped the gun with both hands, her hands disgustingly clammy. "Extend your arms as far as you can, but do not put any strain on them. Keep your head upright, your muscles relaxed, but tense to some extent, but remember, _no_ strain. Keep your head upright, keep your gaze level, in tune with your target. This will also allow you to look out of your peripheral vision, while simultaneously being able to focus on your main target. Are you getting all this?"

She leveled her feet, extended her arms to their full capacity, but made sure not to strain too much, or much at all. She kept her head fully upright, centered her eyes on the target, gripping the gun even tighter, her hands getting clammier and clammier.

"And now - wait. Didn't I tell you to keep yourself both relaxed and tense? You're putting strain on your wrists, your hands, it will cause them to shake, and you will most likely lose your focus, and get nervous." He said somewhat strictly, before moving forward to fix her grip, an irritable tinge to his face. She jerked the gun away from him, and said, "I can do it myself, thank you," and then he fought to keep his face calm and controlled, but his eyes started to blaze more than usual. "You just ruined your whole posture, Chase, don't be too arrogant, I'm freaking _fixing_ you up," he said aggressively. "Resume your previous stance, Chase," and pursing her lips, she did so, wondering faintly but carelessly about why she was being so difficult.

"And now you're putting strain on your shoulders, your feet are too firm on the ground, and your hold is too loose." He went down on his knees, his expression still quite annoyed, and she stiffened as he clamped his hand around her leg. and then his other hand around her other leg. Her face started to burn, both from embarrassment and frustration.

"Relax, Chase. I won't move away until your legs _relax_." Annabeth glared at him for a full second, before closing her eyes, and trying. She imagined - she imagined - how did she relax? She squeezed her eyes, resisting the urge to open them and look down at him defiantly, tell him to stop doing this to her, she understood perfectly, she was relaxed, and what was his freaking problem?

"Look, just imagine - imagine you are letting go of every single molecule in your body. Imagine you are letting go of every particle in your body. You are disconnected from your legs, from your arms, you are not thinking, you are just _there_. You are calm, you are peaceful, you are nothing, you are everything.." And slowly, his voice turned soothing and gentle, like the sound of light music flying with the wind... His hold on her lightened, gently, turning lighter and lighter by the second, and her muscles and her calves all softened, turned to mush...

And then he let go slowly, and her eyes immediately flew open, and her body tensed - but there was a feeling of relief in her legs, a peaceful, soothing feeling...He sighed from besides her.

"You were doing fine a second ago. Maybe a little too fine," he murmured, looking up at her. "It's improved a bit, but you're still very, very tense." He mockingly gestured towards the pile of crates, and her eyes focused sharply on the crate on op, with the red circle painted on it. "Why don't you shoot, and see for yourself how important steadiness and—" Before he could finish, she firmly held the gun, and pushed the trigger.

She missed completely, and instead, her bullet hit the line of empty crates laid out behind her target, just in case she missed. Her mouth pulled down into a grim line. "I focused on the target, didn't I? It's all about focus, and aim," she said, frustrated, and only kept herself from throwing down the gun out of pride.

"I told you," and what was more frustrating was how undeniably cool and calm and controlled his voice was. "Your focus and your aim is important, Chase, but your stance must be the most important of all. If you do not have the correct stance, everything will go to _shit_." He said that last word with seemingly gritted teeth - or so that was what it sounded like.

"Well, I'm trying," she said through clenched teeth. "But relaxing wasn't really on my agenda this morning, and so it's sort of hard.." She trailed off, having realized that she had admitted it. That something was ' _hard_.'

"Yeah." he snorted, getting up on his feet. "That's definitely the problem. That you didn't have relaxing on your agenda. You never do have relaxing on your agenda. You just don't _do_ relaxing," He said mockingly. He moved behind her, his footsteps banging harshly on the floor of the truck. He settled either hand on either of her shoulders, and pushed down. "Relax, here," he said commandingly, and though she hated him with a passion at the moment, she did what he asked, or at least she tried to—relaxing was hard to do when his hands were on her, and she was frustrated beyond belief.

It was when he soothingly started to rub her shoulder blades up and down, up and down, that she finally realized the problem. Her shoulders were uplifted and knotted, so when he soothed them out, the relief was palpable. She relaxed an inch under his touch, her face heating further. And then, his touch brought her to a whole other world, a physical relief that she had never felt before - she had never realized that she been so _stiff_ and uptight all the time. Of course, she felt physically numb many times, but she had always brushed it off - there had always been work to do, concepts to study, buildings to design... And she felt her shoulders lower and lower, but she still felt that tension in her legs - and slowly, she stopped putting so much weight on them, so much stress on them...

He started to rub her shoulder blades with his thumb, almost absentmindedly. "Try now," he said, his hands sliding down to her arms, and for a moment, he breathed in her ear, keeping his hands where they were, before slowly taking a step back, his hands falling off her arms and limply to his sides. She did not stiffen fully this time, but went tense enough to focus on the target, as if it was a real one.

"Better," she heard him murmur behind her, and resuming the position he had told her to assume, recounting his words and various directions in her head, she pulled the trigger again, and the bullet shot out. She watched it whizz through the air, like a substantial breeze. Wind with substance. Heavy, solid, lead substance.

She hit a spot at least four inches away from the red spot she had been supposed to shoot.

"You'll have to work on it," he said lowly. "Work on relaxing, that is. It seems to be your main problem," She felt an irritable tug on a curl of her hair, and annoyed, she wrenched her hair out of his grip, shaking her head. "But that's a bit of an improvement. Not good enough; we need you skilled and fast. It seems some of your skills from childhood have survived, but I'm not quite sure if your father trusted you with a gun, so," he trailed off.

"That's great, I'll remember that," she said sarcastically, her frustration at her rusty skills increasing as the seconds passed. She felt like a beginner fumbling to hold even the gun. She felt like a child. "Are we done now?" He gave her a hard stare.

"In the Mafia, you don't get a break. So no breaks now. I will inform you of the four other postures you may assume, and you and I will then take turns demonstrating the movements ourselves, until I manage to show you how to right your flaws, and until you can do them perfectly. Once I feel that you are doing a good enough job, we will move on to other things," At the look on her face, he added snarkily, "We will never leave this though. Evidently, you have problems in this area, and we shall have to return to it, to make sure you remain adept in gun-shooting."

She stuck her tongue out at him, quite immaturely, which was quite different for her, but the anger at being told what to do and the anxiety of having flaws that seemed hard - no, _impossible_ to fix seemed to prod her on. He crossed his arms, his muscles rippling and moving underneath his rather tight black t-shirt. She forced herself not to look.

"You should be grateful," he added, just as immature. "I'm spending all my time watching you, watching your flaws, trying to improve you, see where you're good, see where you're bad, blah and the works," he waved his hand lazily. "And you get angry? Chase, admit it: you. Are. Not. Perfect. If you admitted that, things would be so much easier for you," He sighed and shook his head mockingly.

"Shut up," she said grumpily. "Shut up or I'm going to shoot you where the sun doesn't shine," and he gave her an ugly look. "I'm so scared," he sneered.

"You should be," she said seriously, before throwing the gun across the floor, and watching it skid to a stop. She looked at him, her grey eyes flaring quite suddenly. "Now," she said authoritatively. "I'm going to take a break. I want you to write them all down, and," she did not finish, for he oh-so-rudely interrupted her, standing opposite her.

"That's quite childish, you know." He said casually. "Don't you have the capability to memorize it once it's said two times?"

"Some of us like to be more sure and careful that others, Jackson." She said pointedly, before propping herself brutally on the hard floor.

"And where am I supposed to get a notebook and pen? Or even writing materials?" He asked her aggressively. She shrugged.

"Go ask the guards up front. Don't drivers usually have such things? Or tell them to stop at a nearby store and buy some," She eyed some dumbbells and similar equipment at a nearby corner of the freight truck. "Meanwhile," she said, her voice hard as she bounced up. "I'll lift some weights." She smirked at him. "I'm getting something done, aren't I?"

And he watched in astonishment as she lifted a 75-pound weight, breaking only a little sweat, taking a little effort but not too much.

"So," he said. "So you can lift weights that weigh a shit ton, but you can't relax?" She smirked smugly at him. He gave her an ugly grimace before rapping cruelly on the board that separated them from their drivers.

He didn't even know what urged him to listen to her stupid, ignorant, egotistical, blonde, gorgeous self.

* * *

 **"HOW MUCH DOES THAT ONE WEIGH?"** He asked, as he leaped up onto the truck easily, and wracked heavily on the back of it, so it closed when he came in. He eyed the large dumbell she was lifting easily with one hand.

"Fifteen pounds," she answered swiftly, and he snorted. She put it down and watched him.

"Not even a fifty? I'm disappointed. I expected so much more from you." He said, before walking up to her, and shoving a pile of papers in her chest. "Here, take your study sheets. Your homework tonight is to memorize everything on the page - " When she opened her mouth to intercede, he added, " - and if you don't, you die."

"I'm so glad to hear that," she said sarcastically, her face level to his, her grey eyes glaring at him passively, her face streaked with red. "Where'd you get the paper and pen?"

"A nearby gas station," She raised an eyebrow. "I stole it off the counter when the guy wasn't looking. All they had was candy, food, and that kind of stuff," he flapped his hand at her. "Did you need something else?" Her hand flew to her hair, which was flying all directions, and sticky with sweat.

"I could have done with a hairband or two," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Did you see any there?" She was almost sure she was having a civilized conversation with him, but she felt very hesitant.

He snorted again, and Annabeth found herself wondering if he was going to turn into a pig. "I don't think gas stations have hairbands, Chase," he said mockingly - and all this _mock_ , for shit's sake! She pursed her lips tightly.

"Well, it gets in the way - "

"So shove it down your shirt." He said casually, and she looked at him in horror.

"So that it all sticks together in clumps? That's disgusting, and it takes years to pry. I need a hairband, Jackson."

"Let's order it on Amazon on our imaginary laptop. They can deliver it to us on the road."

"You're useless." She narrowed her eyes at him, taking a step back. "How much time until we get to New York, shitbreath?"

"Is shitbreath becoming a regular now?" He asked queerly, tilting his mouth into a smirk. "I quite like it. I sounds like dragonbreath, which sounds quite manly.." He trailed off thoughtfully.

"I hope you know it means that you have breath that smells like poop," she said with a sneer, in awe of his capability to transform such an ugly word into such an innocent one. "How much time until we get to New York?"

"Three hours or so," She sighed.

"Oh well. It'll have to do." An awkward silence hung between them at this point, and suddenly, the air between them did not seem so playful and annoyed anymore. Annabeth hated these silences. These awkward silences were an abomination. She found herself wondering at this thought, because normal Annabeth _lived_ in awkward silences with her clients. It gave her the time to asses them curiously, criticize them coolly, and plainly make them uncomfortable. With him, these awkward silences seemed strained even to her, and she hated them.

'Well, uh, show me the other poses and then let's move on." She said bossily, smoothing (more like shoving, really) her hair down.

"Uh, er, okay," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of is neck. "Get in position, and I'll get in mine." She gently took the papers off her and laid them on the floor neatly, before jumping up, and walking directly ahead of the target they had previously been using. He went to his former place, behind her.

'We've covered the Power Isosceles, and now we're going to cover the 'Weaver Stance'" He resumed circling her and just like that, the tension in the air was gone between them. "I'd like you to know that this stance is used for combat-style. It's an aggressive type of stance that resembles the stance that a boxer takes on. You assume it by bringing your unsupportive foot - which is basically the foot on your non-shooting side - " He added. " - forward at least eight to ten inches, making sure that your toes point towards the target. Move the toes of your shooting side fourty-five degrees outward. Don't forget to use both hands. Keep your elbows unlocked and angled outward. Your support arm should have the elbow bent downward at a 45-degree angle. Your support hand should pull into the shooter while the strong hand pushes outward and your support-side shoulder leans into the gun. This creates a very strong grip on the gun.

She assumed the position he was directing, but for some reason, this time, the words flew around her head, and it was as if she could both understand them and could not. "Repeat that," she told him, resisting the urge to grit her teeth together out of courtesy.

"I think it's better if I just show you." He said quietly. "I'm very familiar with this pose, and all the various degrees and angles you have to direct your limbs into is quite confusing." She could think of no other alternative; it was quite confusing. "Stand straight, and I'll correct you from there," and having nothing else to say, she did what he asked.

He squat down to gently guide her feet along the appropriate amount of inches away, so while her right foot was facing her target, her left hand was pointed to the side. He got up to move her hip just slightly to the side, pushing the left side to the angle her left foot was directed, while bringing the other side where the right foot was directed. At this stage, they carefully avoided the other's gaze. He did the same to her waist, and still not looking at her, he took hold of her arms, leaving her left hand upright and pointing towards the target in contrast with her left foot, and just barely moving her right elbow into itself, so it was bent.

"Memorize this stance. Assume it when you are told to assume." He slipped behind her, and quietly ran his hands against her elbows.

"This is the position your hands are to be fixed in," he said strictly, but his touch told her something entirely different. He gently nudged her foot with his, careful not to break her pose. "That's how your legs are supposed to be, take a good look at the exact angles they're supposed to settle in," and she did. She noted how her elbows were in different positions, and exactly what different positions they were, how her hips were at a particular angle, how one foot was directed one place, while the other foot was directed elsewhere. His hands silently slipped off of her, and she faintly wondered for a moment why she had not brushed him off of her when she had the chance.

"Engraved it into your head?" He asked, and she nodded stiffly. "Great. Now shoot."

She shot.

She was still practicing. She knew she was bound to make mistakes. She was somewhat new to this, and she wasn't even sure if she had even been taught this at her young age. She was still practicing. She could not be expected to be perfect on the first few tries. But still, the bullet shot out and rammed into just at the edge of the circle.

"What was it this time?" She asked darkly, frustration starting to well up inside her once again.

"You moved your hips again when you adjusted yourself, and you were just a little too on-guard, and that made you move nervously, so you didn't get the target." On seeing her frustrated expression, he added, " - you shouldn't be too angry. You're bound to make mistakes at the beginning."

"I don't make mistakes," she said sharply.

"Evidently, you do, because you missed this time, and you missed last time." He said calmly. "It's nothing to be angry about, making mistakes is what leads to corrections, which makes you perfect. Even then, you can't be completely perfect." She didn't say anything,

"Here, let me fix your hip. You shoot whenever you feel like it, and I'll fix the mistakes, and keep you noted so you'll be aware." He gently clamped his hands around her hips, and moved them fractionally, until it was in the right place. Making sure he was done, she pulled the trigger and shot.

It was still closer to the edge, but was a little farther than the last one, which meant a little closer to the white spot she was supposed to hit inside the red circle. (They were using a different crate.) But it was still in the red section.

And then, suddenly, Percy's hands were creeping fully around her, wrapping his arms around her hip, and he was pressing his body to her body, and heat was radiating from him, gentle, sweet, heat, unlike the unpleasant, brutal heat the sun provided. She still had her arms lifted, and out of shock, her body jumping at the full touch, she accidentally pushed the trigger once fumbling for the gun in her hands, her hand horribly stiff as she did so.

It rammed into the crate - just at the edge of the white.

"What the fuck, Jackson?" She asked furiously, turning quickly to look him in the eye, pushing him out of her grip. He took his hands off her and dusted himself neatly, looking casual, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"I just thought you needed a little push." He said nonchalantly, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with what he had just done. "And oh, will you look at that?" He gestured grandly at the crate. "It almost worked. Go again." And scowling, Annabeth shoved him farther away from her to give her space, and assumed her position again. She aimed neatly for the target, focusing, keeping herself both tense and relaxed and unmoving.

She pushed the trigger.

It rammed straight into the target.

She allowed herself some happiness. A small, hesitant, graceful smile curved her lips, and she turned towards Percy, who had a look of smug glee pasted on his face. He was opening his mouth, and before he could say anything complacent, she said, "Oh no. That was all me."

"Well, I taught you," he countered, before pushing her carelessly out of the way and taking her place a few feet away from the target. Swiftly, he had himself in place, his body reacting the moment his brain sent a signal that he was going to shoot. He pulled the trigger without hesitance, and Annabeth watched curiously as the bullet shot out and rammed straight into the target, exactly on-point. He gestured at the target when he stepped back.

"Two more rounds and we gotta move on," he said, and she took his place, somewhat mirroring him, trying to move faster and more agilely into place. She shot—it definitely wasn't on point, but it was still within the white category, and though Annabeth wasn't very happy with that, she could not possibly expect to get the hang of exactly the moment she got it. She moved over, he took his place, and he shot as swiftly as before. Then she took his place again, and was glad to say that this time, having had almost memorized the way Percy got into the pose, the bullet sot straight into the target.

"You're getting there." He stepped back behind her. "Assume a normal position." She did so, biting back the urge to say something snappy at him. "Right, now the Chapman stance. It has the same, hostile foot position as the Weaver Stance, so you can just place your feet around the same way you did before, but the foot on the support side doesn't have to go as far as it did before, and it does not point towards the gun. This stance is much more relaxed—so just—try and lay back a little," He stayed quiet as she fixed herself. "Your strong-side arm is now supposed to be fully extended, so—extend it. Angle your hip the same way I angled it before." He noted her feet. "Your left foot is far too stretched out. Bring it a little closer to your right feet, but keep it in the same position it is now," and when she moved, he quickly said, "No, no don't move your hips Chase, you're going to ruin your whole posture. And you're too tense, this is a relaxed stance, remember that,"

Finally, he pushed her lightly away. 'I feel like it's easier for you," he said slowly. "If you watch me do it, and then you copy." She stepped to the side, her eyes hard and focused on him, but she did not answer. He took it as a 'yes'.

He assumed the position swiftly, without any hesitance or problem, his feet spread out at the correct length, one elbow crinkled just as it had been in the former stance, one hand straight and pointing towards the target, his posture both relaxed and somehow still on guard. And then he pulled the trigger and the bullet came flying out, and it went straight into the target. Annabeth sharply watched every single little small movement that he made.

No surprise there for Annabeth.

She shoved him over and quickly put herself in the same posture. He watched her, his eyes moving wildly for mistakes.

"Much better," he murmured. "Yeah, I think you do better inspecting than listening." He shook his head mockingly. "And I wonder how you got a 4.0 GPA that way. Studying, I suppose," and her fists clenched, but before she could say anything in return, he'd already moved on.

"Out of the three positions I've shown you," he said curiously. "Which one do you feel most comfortable doing?" Shoving her gun away in her pocket, and shooting him an intense glare, she marched straight to where she had left the paper Percy had given her, and read it silently and thoroughly. Her eyes flickered up.

"Show me the Power-point Stance and the Strong-Hand Retention Stance, and I'll figure it out," she said sharply, and his face curving into the passiveness that she was as of now still unused to, he opened his mouth to intercede. "You said it yourself," she added snappily. "I do better watching than listening," And without a further word, Percy walked forward.

"The Power-point Stance," he said, before rapidly assuming the position. "It's supposed to be aggressive," he added. One foot was directed straight at the target, the other foot was inches behind directed to the left. He used only one hand, and Annabeth's eyes gleamed momentarily as she watched him like a hawk, taking into account every single movement and angle he made to the perfect degree. His moved beautifully and gracefully when he moved into action, and it was almost hypnotizing. There was denying, though, how utterly aggressive the postures were. He had one hand wrapped around the gun, and the other hand was lingering and folded somewhere near his hip.

Pursing her lips, and taking it all into account, she absently shoved him away, and assumed the position, taking care to put each thing at it's own angle. Her hands wrapped and re-wrapped themselves around the handle of the gun. "I feel like it's much more flexible," she said absentmindedly. "But I also feel like it leaves my left hand open and vulnerable, even at the hip. Though in general, it seemed easy to turn to."

"Hmm."

"The Strong-Hand Retention Stance," she said oddly, moving away, gesturing at Percy. "Show me it."

"This one's sort of different from the aforementioned ones before," He pushed his gun and the hand holding it to his sides, in an almost protective manner. "While the other stance provide a stance that will allow someone to understand that you're doing something dangerous or such, or are going to shoot, this is much more defensive, and isn't as provocative." his left leg came up several inches, and he pushed his right leg back several inches. His left hand was slightly angled towards the target, but not completely. His left hand flew towards somewhere near his shoulder, and his right hand still held the gun to his side. "You can hold it at your side and shoot," he said. She eyed him peculiarly, before moving him away once again, and trying her best to assume it.

Percy gave her a dark, bitter smile. "You look like a soldier." She pulled the trigger with some effort, trying to pull it from her side. It did not shoot straight into the target, but close enough still, which was surprising, because Annabeth was rather unsettled and unbalanced.

"The Power Isosceles Stance and the Chapman Stance," she said finally. "I think I'd like to go for those two." He look at her, incredulous, sitting down on the hard, rumbling floor of the freight truck, and bringing his legs up to his chest, splaying his hands out on them.

"They're the ones that you need the most work on," he said, astonishment hanging clearly in his eyes.

"Well, they're also the ones I feel most at ease doing," she said irritably. "And practice makes perfect, don't you know?"

"You're almost admirable. you know that Chase?" He asked, shaking his head, a small smile on his face. Taking the paper in her hands, she went to sit near him, but not too close to him.

"Why 'almost admirable'? Why not admirable?" She asked, smirking smugly at him.

"Because your ego still gets in the way." She raised an eyebrow threateningly.

"Are you saying that I'm arrogant? Speak for yourself, please do, Jackson. Do you know how utterly conceited you are?" He looked at her strangely.

" Well, you have a large ego. An ego like that can do anything, but an ego like that can get in the way of anything too."

Silence.

And then, "Are you being _deep_ with me, Jackson?"

"Fuck you, Chase. Five minute break before we move on to long-range shooting."

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 **I'M DONE I'M DONE OH THE GLEE OF FINISHING I'M GETTING EXHAUSTED OF ALL THESE STANCES**

 **so i was going over chapter eleven for the inspiration for this chapter, taking out the things that i need, what to remember, who to put in, blah blah blah—and i was horrified to see all the mistakes I found. simple words spelled wrong, or unfinished, hanging in the air like a fish taken out of water by a hook (i think it's a horrible one too, dun worry, it makes little to no sense, i mean a fish out of water - or maybe it does, i don't know, i should stop)** **—and then i'm plainly missing some words. why didn't I see that i missed so many things? i definitely have to go over them, screw procrastinating at the moment, i very nearly had a heart attack reading my work (not really, no, i was just really shocked to see how crappy the grammar was, dear god)**

 **and bringing up the topic of the first scene - props to [ Sibyis Langdon: [** www. Fanfiction u/7637219 ] **for giving me the idea of using the freight truck - honestly, I was quite content with the meat truck, but a freight truck has much more space. all props go to him, because he was who brought up the idea of using a freight truck. a freight truck is considerably larger than a meat truck. (does anyone know how to add a link to someone else's profile? well, until then, just search him up.)**

 **and that reminds me, most of this stance information is taken out of the website. Some words are my words, but I read up on it, and then I write them down - so it's not like I personally knew them from before. I learn about them as I write them, and I find them quite interesting, to be honest.**

 **i spent all morning working on this. now, i'm going to go see all those mistakes in the previous chapters. and i'm going to _cringe_. and if you see any mistakes, well, i published it and i'm still going over it - i feel edited comes much more easily when i see it in the published form. (and on another note, I UPDATED ON TIME HALLELUJAH)**

 **UPDATE: Woah, I hit 100 follows in this story today. Just - thank you to all of you. I don't know how to put my happiness in words. Thank you to every single one of you for helping me get that far. I've seen every single one of you in the reviews, in the favorites list, in the follows list, everywhere. Just - thank you. Thank you so much.**


	13. Look, There's A Cactus Plant

**Full Summary: Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy thinks her to be quite pretentious, though annoying her has it's benefits, and he's secretly starting to enjoy her presence. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.**

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 **LOOK, THERE'S A CACTUS PLANT  
[ unedited ]  
** **[ 8.17.17 ]  
** **[ 6,134 words ]**

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 **SHE KNEW THEY HAD ARRIVED** before they actually came to a stop.

She'd come to various parts of New York for various occasions. And every single time, she would find herself staring out the window, her ears cocked expectantly for all those different types of noises. The noisy streets of the city had always drawn her attention—and though she more preferred the quiet countryside, she found the noisiness of New York had a sort of calming effect on her. And that was how she realized that they had arrived at their destination—she could hear the boisterous crowds tittering loudly through the admittedly thin truck walls. She looked sharply at Percy, but there was a lazy look in her eye.

"We've arrived, haven't we?" She inquired. Without giving him a moment to answer, she went on, "Where are we staying?"

"Property of the Jacksons." He answered cockily, watching her as lazily as she was him, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

"And how are we going to get there without being noticed?" And realizing exactly how formal she sounded, she hastily added a snarky, "darling," and he smirked at her.

"Just keep your gun buried in your waistband, and leave it to the guards to worry about that." She gave him a limp scowl, stretching out her legs, raising her hands up to nose-level, and cracking her knuckles. He watched her all the way opposite her, leaning against the side of the truck facing her. They had a long distance between them, and staring him down, Annabeth realized that she preferred it like that. Keeping a careful distance between them. She hadn't meant to get so close to him, she realized. Those little gestures while practicing how to shoot—and she'd rather ignore how he kept accidentally touching her butt when they had been practicing long-range shooting, until she'd quite literally threatened to shove his own gun where the sun didn't shine (yes, again, but this time much more seriously) - and then last night...

She'd much rather forget, really, but an embarrassed blush coated her cheeks at the thought. She angrily forced herself to think about other things.

"That blush," he said amusedly. "What're you thinking of, Chase?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"What's it to you?" She countered, and subconsciously, her hand traveled to her gun, buried in her waistband. Evidently, he didn't miss the movement, but it did not seem to alarm him very much.

"When a person blushes, it usually gives off the idea that they're thinking dirty thoughts." He smirked at her. 'What're you thinking of, Chase? Or rather—what are you _dreaming_ of, Chase?" She felt his cocky accusation sink into her, and the meaning behind his words made her want to punch him in the face.

"Yes, blushing does give off that vibe," she said agreeably, ignoring his last two questions. "Must have been why _you_ were blushing this morning." And her words turned smug when that familiar, and somewhat cute red heat spread across his cheeks again, and his eyes narrowed. No, not _cute_. She scorned herself for even thinking of such a thing. More like _surprising_.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he countered, his eyes flickering to her and face and away, avoiding her gaze.

"Hmm," she said pompously. "I'm sure you don't." The smirk forming on her face could not be forced off. So she kept it there.

"You know what's worse than blushing?" He asked, his voice ugly, and her gaze sharply turned towards him, and somehow, she knew exactly what he was going to say. Her mouth puckered down into a dirty scowl, and she glowered at him.

"Don't, Jackson," she said threateningly, her mind wandering quickly to the night before, and then quickly surfacing.

"Is my poor, poor wifey _embarrassed_?" He asked mockingly, and she felt her own cheeks start to heat up again, despite the fact that he hadn't actually said what he had been about to say.

"Blushing isn't such a horrible thing, Jackson," she said, her voice bordering dangerously between being pleasant and annoyed. "You don't have to be such an asshole. I'm sorry if blushing hurts your _manly pride,"_ she sneered, and just like that, both of them were glaring eachother down, tension swarming in the air.

"Who said anything about _blushing_ hurting me in any way?"

" _I_ did." She snarked.

"Well, I assure you, darling, my _manly pride_ is perfectly intact, and—" At this point, a loud banging on the part of the truck that separated the front seat from the trunk interrupted their entirely pleasant conversation. They both stared. A faint, feminine voice strictly blared, "Mr. and Mrs. Jackson? We've arrived." Annabeth stilled, then threw a smirking Percy an ugly look, internally seething at the mention of Mrs. Jackson. She got up to her feet, and as the opening of the trunk opened, revealing the glorious, blazing sunlight, she pushed her gun deeper into her waistband.

They met at the middle, and jumped out together—Annabeth, still annoyed at him, avoided how he stuck his hand out for her to take in that split second she hesitated; she didn't need any fucking _support_ , thank you—before they stood, brushing themselves off, standing lazily, shoulder to shoulder, their hands lingering by both their waistbands. Two guards, one female and the other male, stood by their sides, their postures straight, all in black. Annabeth brushed her hair back almost violently, irritated when it came to tickle her ear.

"Well, sweetheart?" She asked poisonously, before turning to survey her surroundings. Having expected scorching sunlight, she was pleasantly surprised to find that they were in the shade. It seemed that the truck had been parked in an alley, and out in the street, within Annabeth's eye range, not many people passed by, which wasn't very surprising, considering the rather bland building they had been situated next to.

It was short, stout, and made out of bricks—meaning that it was plain, dull, and nothing interesting. The crafting wasn't even neatly done, for several blocks had been put in sideways, and many of them were broken off—unless they were _supposed_ to be sideways—

Percy nodded once at the guards and, grabbing her wrist and walking up towards the side of the building. A wave of nausea hit her when she caught the scent of garbage—or maybe it was bird poop, it smelled particularly weird—and pursing her lips, she pushed down that wave of queasiness. Percy came to a stop at a rather uneven brick hanging out of the structure, before pushing it in. Behind her, Annabeth heard the sounds of doors closing, and, stealing a quick look behind her, she noticed the two guards were stepping inside the truck. Her mind narrowed on into this information before she let it go—as much as it pained her to admit, if Percy didn't find that alarming, it shouldn't have been very surprising.

"Since you aren't authorized to enter into any of our buildings, I need you to carefully step over the first six squares of space you see. If you step into any of them, and you aren't recognized, things are going to go to shit. Got it, sweetheart?" He asked under his breath, and shooting him a quick scowl just for the sake of scowling, she nodded stiffly. He twisted the uneven block to the right, and then to the left without much effort before doing the left again, and then the right—and then he pushed it up easily, before pressing it in. The block slid in without further force. Annabeth, thinking the procedure rather queer and easy, watched as it slid in, and in replacement, a stained, dirty white disk slid out, a small pocketknife in it's place. Without preamble, Percy casually took the knife and cut a slit in his wrist, barely wincing. Annabeth watched on with curiosity, ignoring the blood. Evidently, it wasn't as easy as she had thought it to be. He spilled the blood into the white disk, watching it with something akin to boredom, before handing the knife over to Annabeth, and pushing her slightly so she faced the white disk, now with blood spilled over it. Something now flared in his previously blank orbs.

"Slit your wrist," he murmured impassively, a faint shadow entering his eyes. Annabeth hesitated. It wasn't that she was scared of getting hurt, of the barely-there sting when the knife would intrude into her skin. It was just—there was something else that was faintly wrong with this, and she couldn't put her finger on it. So, standing immobilized in the darkness of the shade, facing a not-so-white disk, a pocketknife in hand, she turned to Percy instead.

"I thought I wasn't authorized to enter the building." She gestured towards the white disk. "Won't they know I'm here if I spill the blood anyway?" He shrugged.

"They'll find out anyway, so you've got to show that you're here and you aren't a threat. You're skipping those steps because right, you aren't authorized, and the building will realize that, so it will set off alarms. Capiche?" Dark amusement swirled in his voice. "Why are you asking? Are you scared?"

She shot him an irritated glance, before positioning the knife at where she was sure was her wrist, still watching him, noting how his eyes immediately flickered to the knife in her hand. She cut in, and still looking at him, ignored the sting of pain she felt, and let the blood drip into the white disk.

"Oh, I don't know," she said casually, setting the knife down at the side of the white disk, where there wasn't any blood, before the giving the disk a little push, so it went back in, taking the blood along with it. "Am I scared?" She asked mockingly, holding up her bloodied wrist at him. His lips curved at one side, and he held up his own bloodied wrist.

"Well," he said tauntingly, a dark, playful edge to his voice. "Here's to being scared." He knocked his bloody wrist against her bloody wrist, and she scowled at him again, but her lips, without her acknowledgement, curved into something akin to a grin. She rolled her eyes, shaking off the feeling, before lightly, hesitantly knocking her wrist against his, and then pulling away quickly. He sighed, and shook his head derisively. "You really need to let loose, Chase."

"I am loose," she protested, taking his remark as an insult to her pride. "I am very much loose, thank you." His amusement carved his face deeper, and a smirk lingered at the edge of his lips.

"Are you now?" She stared at him for a second, not realizing his meaning, but when it finally hit her, her stupidity made her want to take out her gun and shoot him, and then shoot herself. Her cheeks started to burn, realizing the meaning behind her own words, and how he could have taken it as. How he _did_ take it as.

"I mean that I do let loose." She asserted, her cheeks still warm. He raised an eyebrow. "We're not having this conversation right now," she said firmly. She turned resolutely towards the block—and lo and behold, the block was not in front of her anymore. Instead, it had been pushed to the side, and a small, black door had materialized in it's former place.

"Is that door supposed to be there?" She asked, staring at it uncertainly. He sniggered, shoving her to the side, and before she could return the favor, he was opening the door.

"Like I said, Chase." He rolled his eyes. "You need to let loose." He ducked inside, and she pushed him further in before he could go through completely out of annoyance, before ducking as well, and entering, pushing her hair out of her face and to the side as she did so. Her eyes set onto the task of assessing her surroundings before she could even think of doing such a thing. The interior was all black. Black and white, black and white, and were there _torches_ in that opposite hallway? It was quite pleasant, actually, when the most black-and-white walls and floors were pushed aside. The front desk had a plant cactus propped on it, and there wasn't much light illuminating the room besides the only light source up high, but the light from the chandelier up above seemed to be enough. She looked around curiously. It was actually quite slick, the place, and she was sure this was the perfect place to work in peace. She could also think up a few changes she could make to it's appearance—it would look spectacular—

"Well," Percy murmured lowly from next to her. "Seems like they've renovated the whole place."

"What was it like?" She asked curiously, her eyes finding his form next to her in the dim light. He looked at her, looking confused, before his face morphed quickly into superior cockiness.

"The interior was white and the insides were much less pleasant." He winked at her, but the uneasiness on his face and in his eyes mirrored what she felt inside, and so despite his easygoing nature, she was quite sure that he was just as edgy as she was.

"Sounds horrifying," she murmured, feigning sympathy. She expected him to catch on, and catch on he did.

"It was," he nodded eagerly and seriously, feigning emotion just as she was. "You should feel real sorry for me.." He trailed off, his voice wavering. Having had turned to smirk at him, Annabeth, surprised, turned to the source of his attention. A figure was coming out of the hallway, the one Annabeth had noticed was illuminated by torches. It was a faintly curvy, feminine figure, and once she came somewhere near the light, her gaze carefully blank, Annabeth felt Percy start next to her.

A weird emotion filled some of her chest at how Percy was acting at the arrival of this new stranger. Her stomach clenched and she forcefully pushed it away, instead focusing on the moment.

"Pipes?" He called out lowly into the dim light, his voice unsure, and not directed towards her. This time, it was Annabeth who started, a flash of recognition shooting through her. _Pipes_. Pipes. She knew that name. She had uttered that name. Who—what?

"Pipes?" He called louder out into the dim light, and the feminine figure stepped underneath the chandelier, her choppy brown locks swishing around her heart-shaped face, kaleidoscope eyes watching them darkly. Annabeth felt her heart start to thunder in her chest, her previous feeling of melancholy at him acting strangely at the arrival of this girl forgotten. Her wrist felt uncomfortably sticky, sticky with blood, pulsing with blood, and her head started to pound, started to piece this—this mystery together, this—this wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be her.

The female figure took another step into the light, and now, all of her hard features were out in the open. Her kaleidoscope eyes swirled with unfathomable emotion, her choppy hair pushed back carelessly into a low ponytail—but that _braid_. That braid was still there. She was suited all in leather, but her leather jacket was left open, revealing her flat, toned stomach and covered chest to the world.

"State your name and business, please." She spoke robotically, her head tilting the slightest, and yet, her eyes were focused on Percy, curiosity swirling in her multi-colored orbs. She leaned back, and clasped and rested her hands in front of her, watching them passively.

"Piper?" Percy asked again, and Annabeth's arm hit something to her side, her mind going blank for a single, heartrending moment, and she scrambled to the side, her arms grasping around for support. Her left hand found only empty air, and her right hand immediately came up to clasp onto Percy's arm for support for a moment, her nails digging in deep.

"Who's asking?" A cool, composed voice rang in the room, her voice ringing and bouncing off the walls and into their ears, but Annabeth was too frozen to wince. Her voice—her voice was just as she remembered it, but so, so much more mature, more older, more _glacial_ _—_ and it couldn't be her, it just couldn't, Annabeth had left it to the past, Annabeth had let go, Annabeth just could not—Annabeth had tried so _fucking_ hard to forget, years filled with tears that had poured out of her like a waterfall—and she never cried, but that _dark_ _time_ —she had tried so fucking _hard_ to leave all those memories behind, the memories filled with gold and diamonds and worth more than her family mansion—Annabeth had—she couldn't—she _wouldn't_ —

Her throat clogged up, and she couldn't breathe, she wouldn't breathe, and the coughs wrenched out of her and she couldn't help it. She dropped to the ground slowly, her body crumpling, her mind screaming at her that this was weakness, this was weakness, this was all _weakness_ _—_ but her heart knew everything and her heart wouldn't stop. For a moment, every singe one of Annabeth's walls fell and crumbled into dust, and she was just there, crumbled on the floor at Percy's side, pathetic, so fucking pathetic, staring at _her_ , her—

"Who the fuck's _this_ pathetic piece of shit?" _Her_ voice snarled, and she heard the sound of heels clacking on the floor. And her grasp on Percy wavered, until she let it fall, crumpling to the ground just as she had crumpled. Percy's gaze lowered, and he lowered himself to come her level, looking her in the eye, looking both surprised and furious. And to Annabeth's surprise, a little concerned.

Annabeth ignored him. Instead, her eyes traveled up and came to rest on Piper _fucking_ Mclean's malignant gaze. She stared up at her, watching, waiting, the heaviness in her heart fading, steadily turning into an icy blizzard of cold, her walls building up again, inside her heart, around her mind. She watched as the surprise hit Piper's face, watched as the astonishment hit her like bricks falling from the sky, watched her range of emotions, from uncontrollable shock, to fury, to anger, to guilt, to _guilt,_ and then she was staring down at her, her cool composure gone, her lips parted, her eyes wide and horrified. Piper had been bending down, her hands on her knees, and her hold on her own thighs weakened almost at once. Her face went pale.

Annabeth felt weak. Annabeth felt pathetic. Annabeth felt _useless_.

And then, all at once, she was dragging herself up, ignoring Percy's outstretched, limp hand, murmuring something along the lines of "I felt weak for a moment there," but her eyes burned into the once familiar, kaleidoscope gaze of Piper _fucking_ Mclean. Her eyes did not leave her, angered enough by her pathetic nature, her moment of weakness. And sure enough, it was Piper's gaze that zoomed away from her first.

She stepped back once Annabeth had fully resumed her composure, and her face fell back into the blank slate—and yet, her eyes kept on zooming to and anyway from Annabeth's scorching grey eyes, who looked back at her intensely.

"Please state your name and business," she repeated again, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. Unfortunately, her voice wobbled. Percy shook his head at her side, looking confused.

"Perseus Orion Jackson." His lips curled. "Look, we just came here to sign ourselves in, and get a quick, quiet way home so we can avoid the paparazzi.. So, er, if you don't mind—" Piper's gaze flew away from her, instead fixing shakily on Percy, her hands gesturing limply at the front desk.

"Sign yourself in and leave," she said, her voice low and blank. Annabeth felt her gaze on her, and avoided it. And then Piper was walking steadily away from them, her heels thumping on the floor, her posture low and crumpled, her pace quick. When she had left, Percy turned his curious gaze towards her—and she carefully avoided it.

"I'd like to go home," she said delicately, trying to push the image of Piper out of her mind. "Let's speed up the process?" She ignored how his gaze burned directly into her, her heart, her soul, but she still bristled in response. When he finally looked away, he shrugged, but there was a rather cold tinge to his face that hadn't been there before.

"I'll sign us in, and we'll go," And with that, he was walking towards the dark front desk, his jaw clenched, and Annabeth followed behind him miserably, the echo of the raucous, heartfelt laughter of two high school girls echoing in her ear.

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 **SHE STARED SULLENLY AT** the headboard of the bed in the master bedroom. It was the only bedroom anyway—Percy had received a call from some important figure, and he had suddenly decided that they would stay at a hotel overnight instead before they made their way to Santa Cruz. In fact, the call had been so important, that he was still talking loudly with whoever had called—the walls were most certainly not foolproof, and if Annabeth had cared very much at the moment, she would have been listening in to every single word that had been uttered. But her mind was on other things—though her ears had managed to sharply latch on to a few surprises.

 _"I very well fucking can't—no, it's too dangerous—...—no, we're better off doing it here, besides, she's new to—no, I said it won't work, it won't happen—...—well tell—fuck you for me."_

And that was where the call ended. Annabeth looked dully at the walls surrounding the bedroom, where he had made her wait while their lunch came upstairs. She hadn't really protested, considering she didn't have much else to do—but she wished that she did, because having something to do would get her mind off such things. If only she had her laptop, and she was back at her office in Los Angelos—

The door to their large master bedroom banged open, and a pale, passive Percy Jackson stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching her, his face looking particularly sickly.

"Who called?" She asked, emotionless, her eyes straying lazily to his face. He wiped a hand over his face, before it drifted towards his hair. It was only then that she noticed he was sweating. "What's up, Jackson?"

"There's a change of plans," and she moved over to make space for him on the bed, but though his eyes moved to the empty spot next to her, he did not budge from his spot against the doorframe. He looked tired, worn down. "Our honeymoon's been canceled, delayed until we can make another reservation. We're heading straight to Sicily tonight, because there's nothing to do in New York." Annabeth deflated.

"I'm getting initiated in Sicily, aren't I?" She asked tiredly, running a tired hand through her curls. He watched her, his face devoid of emotion, and it seemed that he did not acknowledge her words. Instead, he sighed low and inaudibly, and finally walked towards the bed. She felt it dip, and she watched him curiously.

"You should have taken off your boots, Chase," He gestured towards her feet. She shrugged. "It's more something I would do than something you would do." His eyes flickered up to her face. "Doesn't suit you."

"Hmm." She murmured disinterestedly. He watched her, as if he was waiting for something, as if he was going to say something, and—she knew she wouldn't like it before he opened his mouth."Spit it out, Jackson," she heaved quietly. "I'm sure I'll take it perfectly well."

"We're taking someone with us back to headquarters." Her eyes met his, and without asking, she knew exactly who was going with them to Siciliy. Her mind spiraled downwards, and her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. "She's been working with the Black Wine the past few weeks, and I'm sure you've been told that it's a more minor group of the Mafia—because it all comes down from the Italian and the Russian Mafias—though it's still part of the Mafia nevertheless—"

"It's weird, isn't it?" She smiled bitterly at him without really looking at him. His eyes flew up to meet her gaze, his eyes widening fractionally, a question swirling in them.

"What's weird?"

"How much of a long way we've come, even though we've just started a few days before." He stayed silent, his eyes swiftly turning away from him. "What's even more surprising is how much of a long way we've come from the mission your father gave us." Her mouth tilted downwards. "Our plans are completely different from what he told us to do. Remember? He came to us the day after we ' _got married'_ —" She used her hands to mockingly emphasize her words.

"Plans always change. You should get used to it." He answered coldly, and Annabeth's gaze determinedly turned away from him, sensing the tension forming in the air. He would not forget, he would most definitely not let it go. He would act like this until she told him—and the problem was, that she did not plan on telling him.

A long moment of silence stretched out, and it was, curiously, much more tense than it was awkward. Percy's gaze did not waver from Annabeth, watching her coolly, and Annabeth kept her gaze away from him, feeling like a coward. Her heart started to beat faster and faster as the moments passed, and she forced down a feeling of calm to keep her going. She did not want the conversation to turn that way, she truly didn't, it would just fuck things up between them. She wasn't ready to disclose the events of even some of her past, not just yet, and she didn't want him to bring it up. But it was quite inevitable.

"Who's going to start this conversation?" He asked lowly. On any other day, when the atmosphere wasn't so stuffy, Annabeth would have found that line quite amusing. Now, she felt blank. Empty. A familiar feeling, nothing to be concerned about, nothing new, nothing that was ever new. "You or I?" Her eyes flickered up to the ceiling, and she remained silent.

 _We've come a long way haven't we?_ They had, and it bothered her. _In just a little more than a week?_ Anger rose up inside her. Why had they come such a long way? When had they come such a long way? And not just in what they were doing, but in the way they acted towards eachother. _Why?_ They had been supposed to hate eachother, and they did, they couldn't stand eachother in some moments. In all those stiff, awkward moments, and all those—those— _whatever_ the case, she hated him. N, she always hated him, screw the good moments, the pleasant moments. She was sure he did as well, she knew he did. Feelings did not change so quickly. Just because he had been sort of a helping hand because she had been new at this shouldn't have meant anything. Nothing should have meant anything. _What was it to him?_

 _What is it to you?_ She wanted to ask him, to scream at him, to make it bow p in his face. She wanted him to be hurt, she wanted him to stay away. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. _Why do you care?_

"What conversation?" Instead, she decided to remain ignorant. When her eyes flickered up for a moment to meet his eyes, the space between them seemed like a yawning gap. Some part of her beckoned her towards him, a small, minuscule part, the careless, reckless part of her—and even so, it was a small part, and the small part had to be removed. She stayed away from him, and as if sensing the slight tug as well, he leaned back, away from her.

"It's going to be me, then," he said finally, his voice inexplicable. "Okay. Fine." He allowed her a beat to gather her thoughts. "Who is she to you?"

"Who is who to me?" She snapped irritably. _Why the fuck do you care, Jackson?_

"Who is Piper Mclean to you?" His words were sharp, as if they were meant to sting. And it was hard to tell if they were supposed to, for his eyes gave nothing away to her.

Silence. She met his gaze steadily.

"Why," she started slowly, meaning for the words to hit him hard. "—do," her gaze intensified. "—you," and the point in her voice was not to be mistaken. "— _care_?"

His eyes blazed wildly against her's for a moment, his emerald green eyes rising to a dark shade of green that she had never seen in her life. The anger that swirled in his orbs were like—like—Annabeth faintly recalled reading a book about Greek Mythology, of reading of a liquid called _Greek Fire._

"I don't know, Chase," he snarled. "Did it ever occur to you that being _married_ to you meant I was supposed to _fucking_ _care?"_

She shook her head mockingly, shrugging her shoulders carelessly. "No, I don't think it has," she answered lightly, her voice holding a poisonous undertone. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Piper is a friend. I'm supposed to be married to you. So yes, I—"

" _Supposed_ to. We're _supposed_ to be married, dipshit." Her mouth curled and her nose wrinkled, pretending as if she didn't hear about Piper. And she didn't. Her ears, her mind, her _heart_ —they were closed to everything Piper _fucking_ Mclean. He briefly closed his eyes, his lashes flashing against his skin tone, and Annabeth looked on dully.

"Are you ever not complicated, Chase?" He asked finally, and though his face was blank, and the anger still swirled in his orbs, there was a hint of resignation in them. Her lips bitterly curled further to the sides.

"Giving up so quick, Jackson?" She answered back lazily, but wariness swirled inside of her. Yes, he looked resigned, but something had started up again in the air—it wasn't necessarily something tense, but alarming all the same.

"Look," he said finally, and he leaned up a fraction towards her. There was still a large amount of space between them, and Annabeth preferred to keep it that way. "Why don't you tell me an overview of whatever shit is going on between you and Piper, and I'll be on my merry way? Just a little bit, and I'll be out of your way. Capische?" The way he put it, it seemed as if it was a joke to him, but there was something serious in his eyes as well, having replaced the resignation. Annabeth pursed her lips, and looked him over from his criss-crossed legs, to his messy raven black hair, wondering faintly what information to give him to keep him out of reach.

"Piper and I," she said finally, "—were once friends." She paused. "Things went to shit and I haven't seen her since." She gave him a long, hard look. "Is that good enough for you/" He rolled his shoulders back, leaning away from her, a curious look on his face.

"Is this one of those girl pro—"

"No, Jackson," she interjected angrily. "It's not one of those _girl problems."_ He looked back at her, and she kept his gaze on him, and they sized eachother up, Percy trying to figure out a way to open her mouth a little wider, Annabeth because she didn't really understand him and wanted him to go away so she could get her thoughts together.

"Fine," he said finally, and this time, the resignation in his voice was for real. "You can tell me the whole story when you feel like it."

"Who says I'm ever going to feel like it?" She quirked darkly, sitting straight on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her. "Who says I'm ever going to tell _you_?" He did not flinch, and it was almost as if he was expecting it.

"You never know, Chase," he said, a hesitant smirk forming on his face as he got up from his spot on the bed. Annabeth watched him as he did no, her gaze momentarily distracted by his stretching chest. "You never know what might happen in the future." And with a wink that did not seem quite plausible, and contrasted with the bothered look in his still dark-green eyes, he steadily left the room.

* * *

 **I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN THREE WEEKS - WHAT? I'M SUCH A HORRIBLE PERSON IK**

 **in all honesty, i completely _panicked_. things got pretty serious (in my view) between Annabeth and Piper, and that make me pull away from the story because i was simply confused. having annabeth know someone from the mafia to connect her to it to some level is important, and having the best friend (in other words, Piper) have a large role in Annabeth's life and in the story is important to me as well. that's why i liked the idea of having annabeth and piper know eachother from before - and be closer and being plain friends. i liked the idea of them being - or used to being - best friends that fell in love with eachother, though not necessarily romantically. best friends are an essential part of life, and i wanted annabeth to have that support. does that make much sense?**

 **and concerning annabeth and percy's relationship, i know i've been dripping some hints, percabeth moments here and there, but i feel like it may be too early for any mental chemistry to strike up. yes, they are attracted towards eachother, (and just because they won't fall in love right here, doesn't mean the physical moments won't come by mwahaha, so don't worry) but i don't want them to fall in love too quick. falling in love too quick will disturb the actual plot, so i'd rather these feeling starts to develop while they go through some major shit. and no, we haven't exactly hit that major shit just yet, but it's coming. and percabeth moments? they're everywhere.**

 **and anyone remember Luke? and Thalia? and Drew? and Helen and Bobby and Matthew and JUST ABOUT EVERY CHARACTER FROM BEFORE CHAPTERS?**

 **i know i do. hint hint.**

 **on another note, what do you think of this former connection between piper and annabeth? and holy smoke, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE FACT THAT SCHOOL IS STARTING SOON? i wanted to push in a last update before school started, but look at me right here, procrastinating ever-so-merrily.**


	14. Nobodies & Anybodies

**Full Summary: ** Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy thinks her to be quite pretentious, though annoying her has it's benefits, and he's secretly starting to enjoy her presence. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.

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 **THE NEXT MORNING BROUGHT SILENCE. ANNABETH** didn't spare him another glance once she heard him thumping in the rooms nearby, while pouring herself a bowl of milk, and once Percy entered their? living room? dining room? kitchen? whichever it was, he didn't attempt to strike up conversation. Their silence was tense and stuffy, taking up the room in all it's glory, and she let herself get lost in the midst of it, while simultaneously being aware of what was going on around her. His footsteps were a cross between being loud, teetering on unbalanced, and she didn't have to turn around to figure out that he had grabbed the remote, without shooting her a single glance. She could hear it, and she could feel it, but she shrugged it off, finding the silence both comforting and uncomfortable. It gave her some space to think, she supposed. But she also had plenty of space to think when she was around him, backed up by _him_ and _his_ thoughts, so what was the difference, really?

She shoved back the carton of milk into their temporary mini-fridge, and settled herself carefully on the chair, using her spoon to swirl around her cereal. In all honesty, she was starving. Had she eaten anything the night before? She didn't think so. Just as she was about to lift the spoon to her mouth, her eyes not focused on the TV, but on her cereal, something rather surprising reached her ears:

 **"ANNABETH CHASE & PERCY JACKSON—WHAT'S GOING ON?"**

Annabeth froze. She slowly dropped her spoon back into her bowl of cereal, lifting her gaze until it clashed with the TV. Similar to her, Jackson, settled immodestly on the sofa, legs dangling carelessly over the edge, stared at the sofa, form stiffening.

 _"Yes, what is going on, Sammie? I really don't understand. The pair have been cited in various places—the most peculiar of which, in an alley! I really don't get where this is going. And our sources—"_ Here there was a rough, masculine little laugh, _"—have told us that they seem to be very, very close, in general. They nearly touch when they walk, and there is something strange about the way they talk to eachother_ — _Sammie . . . do you think?"_ The male's voice was both mocking and astonished, so it was safe to say that his little laugh and his little remarks were all fake and practiced, and meant to hurt.

The man was in pristine condition. His hair was perfectly smoothed back, and his brown eyes sparkled—fakely. He wore cleanly pressed jeans, and a button up shirt, and he looked charming—the way someone fake looked charming. There was nothing charming about that smile though. The man himself aside, a picture flashed up on the TV.

It was from the day they had been faced with that alley. The ruse Poseidon had supposedly planted to test out their strengths together, They both looked solemn and serene and happy and content, and simultaneously alert. Annabeth stared at her own picture—her damned hair surrounded her face, and there was this distant, far-away look in her away, a smile curving her abnormally pink lips? pinker than what they looked like when she looked in the mirror? but that didn't stop her from brushing him, or him from brushing her.

She remembered the day like it was yesterday. That day, there had been an unusual frostiness between her and the bastard when they had met. They had barely talked. The picture had clearly been tampered with—because despite how they both weren't talking, his eyes had slid to her's, and the picture had caught it on-point. He hadn't even been looking at her directly. He'd just been glancing at her—and it had been a passing glance. But she couldn't deny, that in that moment, his green orbs did look quite luminous. They both had their hands to themselves, of course, but admittedly, they were walking far closer to eachother than normal people would—their shoulders touched briefly, their elbows comfortably getting acquainted with eachother whenever they briefly touched—and honestly, she could see why people would draw conclusions from that picture.

They looked quite comfortable with eachother. Peaceful, serene, and comfortable, walking side by side, perfectly content with not talking. As if they were just enjoying the other's presence.

That picture was gone in another moment, and another replaced it. This picture seemed as if it had been taken from behind a car. And there she and her supposed husband were, both turned towards eachother, eyes narrowed and dangerously playful. She looked quite irritated, though she was proud to say that her composure was near perfect. Back straight, hands seeming as though they were folded in her lap, curls perfectly framing her face, hair done neatly. Though there was a neat scowl on her face, it had been made to seem as though there was a sparkle in her eye. And besides her, Jackson did looked quite enchanting. His hair was nearly in his eyes, caught in the moment, and there was also that glimmer in his eyes as they both looked at eachother.

And all this from a shot taken from the back.

Yes, it had been most definitely meddled with, no doubt. Photoshopped, perhaps. Her heart started to beat a steadily anxious rhythm in her chest, and once she realized it, she scowled internally, and criticized herself. They'd already been through this. Their supposed relationship status (lack thereof, rather, but the public would not believe that, no, not anymore) would go public at some point. That was nothing surprising. There was nothing new there. They'd even developed their own, sort-of, not-really convincing story, and it was sure to work out when they put it through to Poseidon and it finally hit the public. There was absolutely nothing to be anxious about at all, so damn the nervous fluttery feeling in her chest.

"Well," Jackson shrugged, his voice uncharacteristically moody and off, breaking off the silence between them. "That's that, isn't it?" His eyes flickered towards her direction, and met her gaze steadily. "We saw it coming." _We_.

She shrugged, like how she was shrugging it off. "I'm quite sure the photos were tampered with," she said, her voice still tense, a coil unwilling to spring out of its own cage. His gaze flickered back towards the TV, as he lowered the volume considerably, but not up till where they couldn't hear it.

"It was bound to happen sometime soon." He remarked drily, and she duly realized that the stiff atmosphere between them wasn't going to fall and break apart any time soon. Fine. She didn't plan on breaking it down. "Yes. Yes it was. We'll put out the story through your father first, because there's really no other way—" Well, that was a lie. There were quite a few other ways. None of them seemed entirely appealing to her, and once she caught that look in his eye, she realized that once again, their schedule was going to be interrupted.

He gave a bitter laugh, his eyes still on the TV. "It's not going to be as easy as that, darling," he drawled. "Sorry to burst your pretty little bubble. Life isn't that easy." She ignored him and his blatantly sugarcoated words filled with lazy sarcasm.

"And what's going to happen to our plans? And you never explained everything about Siciliy." She noticed his eyes cloud slightly with discomfort. "And I'm not going to step out of this fucking hotel until I get the full explanation." Her eyes drifted towards the windows. "We've got time," she added, her voice just as dry as his. It was 7:14, she believed, and it wasn't as if she'd been told anything besides that they were going to Sicily today, and early in the morning.

She suddenly hated herself for being so pathetic the night before. Shame churned inside of her, burning as bright as a flame once she remembered her weak display in the lobby of _that place_ , but she'd been having a dark time, in that split second she allowed herself to show something, some—some weakness. She didn't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. It was simply that horrendous. What had she been thinking then? It had been horribly out of character and dramatic and extra. Annabeth fucking Chase was not out of character. Nor was she unnecessarily dramatic. And she most definitely was not _extra_.

He sighed, his feet still dangling from the ends of the soda. "I'll explain it to you on the way there," he said, without much preamble or feeling. Maybe we'll discuss this too—" He gestured towards the TV. "—if we find that we're both up for it. We've gotta take it slow, but we still have to do the damned interviews."

"That's what I mean," she shot back at him coolly. "Interviews don't take place right when the rumors start spreading. It'll be as if you're pressing the rumors down. You have to let it develop, build up, and then we can appear on TV and act like start-struck lovers hell-bent on loving eachother until we die. Or some shit like that." He looked blank for a moment, before shrugging and lifting himself easily off the sofa. His hand settled for messing up his already messy locks.

"Sort of out of it," he said, waving his hand in the air. "That's the gist of it, yeah." She quickly ran everything over in her head, and without missing a beat, she realized what he was trying to do (which was distract her, or maybe just avoid her as long as possible, really, because she did demand that he tell her. She'd been stupid long enough.)

'I told you," she dragged out each word poisonously. "I'm not going to take a _fucking_ step out of this _fucking_ hotel until I know where we're going in Siciliy, and why we're going there."

"Fine then," he shot back, lightning quick, as if he'd seen that response coming. "We gotta be out and at it by around 8. So I'll explain it to you while we pack."

"There's nothing to pack." She didn't hide her momentary distaste of him. "And I want the explanation now."

An eyebrow rose. But what struck her was that he didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked quite _relieved_.

* * *

 **THE SOFT MURMUR OF PIPER'S** lilting voice could be heard through the door, and Annabeth ignored it, instead focusing out the window. Her heart beat strongly in her chest, but there was something soft about it, something calming. And something about the weather outside was extremely discomforting—it was raining heavily, creating an atmosphere filled with gloom. There was also something about having her ex-best friend of nearly seven to eight years standing yards away from her, behind a closed door, having a heated, muffled conversation with someone on the other line. Percy, on the other hand, was draped across a seat across from her (private airplanes had velvet seats, and he was taking full advantage of it.) His eyes, she observed, were distant and focused on the ongoing storm outside—which gave her reason to think that the storm did not wish them good luck.

She pursed her lips. She was enjoying the silence remarkably well, and even more so since Piper left. Her awkward glances and inability to meet her eyes made Annabeth feel uncomfortable, after she'd let the tension wash away and leave her passive to the other girl's presence. No use in breaking it—but Percy's eyes were already drawing away from the storm and turning towards her. She glanced back at him over crossed legs.

" _We should be allowed a few moments of rest when we arrive there,"_ he'd taken her to the side and had spoken urgently and lowly to her when he'd had his men search the room and take their things away. She'd watched them but listened to him with fully open ears. " _But keep in mind that they're very urgent about taking in new members. It sometimes takes months for them to recognize a letter, and it's rare that people can actually join. Major things have to be done in order to get anywhere near the Mafia. As for you_ — _well, you're married to me, which gives you open invitation, but they will test you. They won't take just anyone in. Brutality and harshness is what the Mafia worldwide operates with, and with sharp precision."_ She remembered the sharp precision with which he spoke with as well. Gone was the lazy, arrogant boy she'd come to see. Instead, in his place was a man with a sharp, predatory gleam in his eyes, and a razor smile that could raze empires. " _I can't guarantee you when exactly they'll have you initiated, but they won't give you proper time to prepare, after we've arrived, which will be around 10 hours, give or take some. They could give you one night and initiate you the next morning, or they could be give you day, and initiate you the following night."_ Doubt momentarily clouded his expression.

" _They won't reveal that information to me, but for some peculiar reason, they've taken a sharp interest in you."_ His eyes had taken a sharp interest in her at the moment. Perhaps he was one with the Mafia, but the suppressed anxiety in his voice could not go unheard. " _I can't talk about the initiation, Blondie, but it's not some quick fling, I can assure you of that."_ She didn't doubt that. The reality of the situation was pressing down on her. " _After your initiation, we're jumping right into it. Far as I can tell, you're accurate with most dirty play, and your gun strength is quite accurate, though it could be better. Your father taught you well. Initiation means that you're officially in, and then our first mission starts. I haven't received details, so I wouldn't know."_ He hadn't looked particularly happy about that fact. " _And as we are partners, we'll be going in together. But a warning : romantic entanglements aren't tolerated in the Mafia,_ " and here, she had to raise her eyebrows. She'd kept silent all this time, and finally turned to look at him. His gaze was level. " _I'm simply saying it in passing. Romantic entanglements aren't tolerated, and if it gets in the way_ —"He didn't finish his sentence, and Annabeth didn't think she needed him to, in all honesty. If there was one thing that wasn't going to get in her way, it was _romantic entanglement_.

She'd nodded then. His eyes questioned her, " _Do you have any questions?_ " Honestly, he'd given her more facts than answers, but she'd taken it. If she had questions, she'd ask him.

But now, she had one, though it wasn't necessarily a question so much as a fact. "I'm not your responsibility," she said, gaze level and voice controlled and curious. He left his phone lying face down on his chest, and turned his full attention towards her, Piper's fading, fuming voice their lilting background. "You are, actually," he said seriously, and she hated how she could accept that, though she didn't want to. She was new to this, but there was a certain familiarity to this, as if she was born to this. "You're my responsibility until I'm sure you can take care of your own, and you'll be getting acquainted as having me as _your_ responsibility." He gave her a cheeky smirk, and her nose crinkled. "So when I know that you'll be completely fine on your own, which won't take long, I'm sure, as long as you don't trip over your own feet, we'll be eachother's responsibility, though really—" His nose crinkled, like her's. "—we're already eachother's personality. Such a shame, isn't it?"

"Nearly sounds romantic," she murmured, but calmly accepted it, clearly assessing his words internally. He was making perfect sense here, which was quite admirable to some small, tiny extent—but again, this was Perseus Shitty Jackson so perhaps she had the wrong guy.

His smirk widened. "Oh, wifey, would you _like_ it to be romantic?" She gave him a disapproving scowl in return.

"It would be a shame if it was."

"Actually, I'm quite sure you'd approve, darling wife," he cooed generously, and she sighed, running a hand through her tied hair, which offered resistance.

"It's just you, you ass," she replied, and just like that, they were both turning away, his smirk still genuinely lingering, creating a surprisingly bright gleam in his face—and just as Piper's voice reached a particularly high crescendo. A wave of enmity flowed through her, but then it was endearing because she remembered the days she'd had to smack Piper to shut her up when she was too loud in the cafeteria, in the concerts, in karaoke. Her eyes flickered back to Percy, her lips pressed tightly, eyes warning him not to pry too deep.

"Is she usually that loud?" She already knew the answer, why was she asking? Some people never changed. He smirked back (one day, his mouth was going to fall off from all this smirking, and he would regret ever having done it, she was sure) but his eyes watched her carefully, the bright gleam only slightly lingering, the rest consumed by something else that wasn't play.

"You should see her in bed with her current boyfriend."

Annabeth stopped attempting to make conversation with Percy hours after that (and she was quite sure he answered in that like _just_ to shut her up, the bastard.)

* * *

 **WHEN PIPER FINALLY PUSHED OPEN THE DOOR** , phone stubbornly stuck in the back pocket of her leather jeans, hair tied up severely and kaleidoscope eyes changing slowly from one color to the next, giving off an image of calm, pink lips pressed together in anger, Annabeth had her legs pressed together tightly, fingers tinkering with her phone but gaze constantly drawing up to the windows, and Percy had his legs dangling off into the next chair, eyes searching the ceiling carelessly.

She propped herself two seats away from Percy, and let herself sprawl, drawing up her arms to bend them behind her back and stretching out her legs. She was aware of Percy watched her amusedly, and out of the corner of her eye, Annabeth's eyes flickered to and from her in a moment's notice, before continuing her concentrated interest on the outside World, and at that, Piper ignored her altogether for the moment, sure that Annabeth wouldn't look at her after that.

A faint feeling of guilt and regret stirred up in her chest at a long, long, buried memory, of a grove of trees and a dead body and the feel and taste of blood, copper and disgusting, and the sound of a high rising scream and the fall of tears on her face, the breath of a male anxiously going up and down over her, desperation in his breath and the faint thought of, _I am dead, I am dead, I am dead_ butshe slowly pushed it away. It had been one of the worst moments of her life, ranking in the top 10, but now was not the time to recall. Now was a more urgent time.

"Did you blow your record, Pipes?" Percy asked lazily, his head lolling back on the arm of the velvet seat, eyes watching her, and Piper busied herself with fixing her hair as she did when she was frustrated. She pulled it out of it's hold and combed her hands through it.

"Probably," she answered in like, voice sagging and compressed. "Did you time me this time?"

"Two hours and 57 minutes."

" _Shit_. Definitely not the record. Should've called a few more shits and wasted my time on _them."_

"What's your record time?" She shrugged, her mind carrying her elsewhere, out of the conversation with Percy. "Never really had the time to check when I was too busy talking, you know, Perseus."

"Don't call me that." His voice was nasal and ugly, but she threw him a devious grin and he mirrored her, coming up with his next comeback—except this time, his reply was serious and something she definitely didn't want to answer, but had to anyway. She was quite sure he was leader of their regiment (though they all kept things from him, and that was _victory_. Rebellion was forever appreciated by her.)

"So . . who were you talking to?"

"Nooobody."

"Nobody or somebody?" She coughed.

"Nobodysomebody."

"Interesting."

Silence. She waited for it calmly—one, two, three—four, five six—eight, niine, tee—

"So is it your new fucktoy, who's been cheating on you with Maria, Maria Jverius from Regiment 129 in Paris by the way, don't know how they met, but they came to Sicily a few weeks back, and his explanation was that you've been gone too long and he needed some ass, and according to him, Maria's got a nice ass, think they're going steady every night now—or was it Di Titty Capi Reynolds? You aren't fucking _him_ now, are you? Damn, Piper—"

Annabeth snorted, and Piper continued to avoid looking at her, but a part of her perked up at the familiar sound, forever engraved into her heart but long forgotten, faded into the soothing music on her insides.

"Titty Reynolds has a horrible grey ass, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't wipe after taking a shit, so no fucking way in hell—and don't you fucking dare, Percy, you're more of a whore than just about anyone I know—"

"Even Maria Jverius? . . . At least, I think that's her name. I just know it's a Maria."

"Well—" She pretended to consider it. "Maybe Maria is bit more whoreish than you, and only because she fucked, uh—"

"Ryan," Percy supplied cheerfully. Piper crinkled her nose, confusion lighting her up for a moment.

"You sure that's his name? Wasn't Ryan from last year though?" Percy stopped, his head lolling.

"I'm not sure, actually . . . "

"Let bygones be bygones."

"Hmm."

Silence.

"So it was Di Titty Capi Reynolds, wasn't it?"

Silence. Silence was golden. Silence was yummy. "Yeah. Just some information about one of my next cases—no, I can't tell, don't ask—"

"Si." His voice was stiffer this time, and she gave him a moment to pull himself together, because he wasn't a smartass, he couldn't know all, but she could understand his frustration—a high Don did have the need to keep everything in order and in track, and therefore needed to know everything related. "So when are you going to talk to Ryan?" A moment of lingering silence. "Jason isn't too happy about him, by the way—"

"What?" Piper asked sharply. Why was Jason being brought up, exactly? She was jittery enough at the fact that she was going back, and therefore had to deal with his forsaken golden hair and those freaking eyes, with as much depth as the sky—

"Think they had a run-in sometime before, not sure when though, I've been disconnected from them for a bit of a while—but Jason isn't too happy about him, and isn't too happy with you either—something about having a terrible choice in boys, so really—"

"That's nice, Percy." That promptly shut him up. Assholes were assholes, but this asshole knew when he crossed the line, and knew when to shut up (didn't mean he always shut up, though) and Piper moved on to a more serious topic, tired of frivoling.

"How far are we? Any close to arriving?"

"We left at 9 in the morning, and the time it takes is about 10 and a half hours, which rounds to about 11 hours, and therefore, we should be arriving at—around 7 or 8 in the evening." His face crinkled. "Pretty sure it's around nighttime, actually, not the evening, but around 7-8 PM—" He paused. "Actually, let me go and make sure with the pilot. I need to take a piss anyway." He stood up, stretching, and Piper watched carefully as Annabeth's carefully maintained facade flickered to his chest, an eyebrow raised, before flickering to his face, where they exchanged rather egotistical glances (if you asked her)—and then Percy was making his wary way towards the toilet, circling round to Annabeth to pull at her hair and escaping just as she smacked his arm particularly hard, shooting him an irritated glare.

Piper found it incredibly sweet and extremely curious—but what wasn't was the fact that she was left with one of the people that she really, really didn't want to be left alone with—Annabeth Chase. Her childhood best friend, her equivalent of sisters. The girl who carried her heart for years that carried delicious memories. Annabeth was a best friend that she treasured then, and she treasured now, and would continue to treasure for her whole life. It made her curious, how absolutely underestimated the concept of best friends were, sometimes, how they were taken for granted sometimes. It annoyed her. A best friend didn't have it's equivalent in gold, because he/she was always worth more than any gold in the World, even all the gold in the World put together.

But she had ruined that, and suffice to say, she couldn't say she regretted it completely. She did regret it, she did. But the life she had taken as her mantle after it had her satisfied. It was who she was. It was what brought her here today, being who she was now. She would never be complete without the life she lead, just as she would never be complete with the Annabeth she used to know.

But guilt didn't solve problems.

"So . . are you and Perseus married?" She started off awkwardly. In all honesty, she'd never considered it when she heard that one of her closest friends was getting married. She'd never considered who he was getting married to, as she'd brushed it off as some pathetic bitch, because she didn't even have to ask to know that Percy was most definitely not getting married for love. It was easy to connect some of the dots together. He was a bigass media person. He was famous. He was Poseidon's son. She'd called him when he was having a bigass fight with Poseidon and 'marriage' was mentioned in there once or twice. Definitely not for love. Probably publicity or some shit.

And if Annabeth was anything like how she remembered, then Percy hadn't married some pathetic bitch. (Annabeth looked the same, acted the same, reacted the same . . . her little escapade yesterday aside. Safe to say, Annabeth seemed the same.

But everything was different.

"Yes." She responded stiffly, her gaze still resting out the window, before flickering down to play with her phone, and Piper's insides writhed with awkwardness. She hated awkward situations if it involved someone she knew considerably well, and Annabeth—well, awkward situations with her were discomforting to Piper and nonexistent for Annabeth, because Piper knew, based on experience, that Annabeth didn't give much of a fuck about awkward situations with people she didn't know.

What hurt was that Piper knew that she was classified into the category of people that Annabeth didn't know.

"So who initiated the marriage?" Pause. "I'm guessing it wasn't out of your free will."

Annabeth would never in her life marry someone like Percy. Piper wasn't sure if she ever considered the idea of marrying, actually. She was invested in school and academics and her future, and didn't give much thought to anything else.

"No. It was an alliance." Piper came up blank for a moment. Alliance between . . . ? Annabeth was the daughter of . . Frederick Chase. Yes. Chase Industries, was it? No. It had something to do with . . . owls. Wise Owls Industries? That couldn't be right. Athenian Owl Industries. _Bingo_. And Percy was of the Poseidon Industries (extremely arrogant, his father, to have named his own company extremely close to himself) and _oh_.

Poseidon. Athena. _Athena_.

Did Annabeth know the true reason?

"So your . . fathers. Their companies. Allying to end the feud, I guess? With marriage?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Pause. So many pauses. Honestly, should she just have asked to take another private airplane? They had hundreds of them, most of them contributed by the bigots in the Mafia, but this was Percy's private airplane, which meant she was surrounded by more safer, familiar people, so—"How have you been?"

"Fine."

"A positive 'fine' or a negative 'fine'?" She asked jokingly, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but even before she finished speaking, she knew it wouldn't work. Annabeth wouldn't stay silent, but shit, she was stubborn as _fuck_. It would easily take years for Annabeth to be the first one to initiate conversation, and then only polite conversations. She held on to certain grudges extremely tight, but Piper knew she had no right to speak on that matter—she was at fault and she knew it.

"Fine." And then Piper, who decided to take the stupid route and erase the last minute of pleasant, polite, constricting conversation with her previous best friend of 8 years couldn't help it, and pleaded, " _Annabeth_ ," her hands tightening on the arms of her seat without thinking. And then Annabeth, who's already stormy grey eyes had turned so dark that Piper could barely differentiate between her pupils and her iris, simply said, "I'm going to go and grab a snack," and walked calmly out. (There was a vending machine in here somewhere, so Piper couldn't even protest and say that there was nowhere to get food from.)

And then all Piper could do was put her hand in her hands and let the regret consume her, fueled by the darkness of the outside World and the worry her loud conversations had instilled in her, in the empty room of velvet seats and the ghost of her ex-best friend of 8 years snorting merrily.

Some ghosts never died, and for Piper, Annabeth's ghost was one of them, however much the memories faded into the lilting background of her mind.

* * *

 **JUST AS PERCY HAD GUESSED, THEY STARTED TO DESCEND** around 8:00 PM and actually arrived at around 8:15. It was dark outside as they gathered their personal things and strutted outside. There hadn't been much to take at the hotel, but since both Percy and Annabeth could afford to do so, they took some other things. A few fruit bowls. Some food. Some basic things. There hadn't been much at all. Piper, on the other hand, had four-five suitcases full of things that Annabeth presumed was clothes, and she found herself faintly wondering if Piper lived her when she wasn't on missions.

They were in Erice, Sicily. Had Percy told her that? She couldn't recall, but she was quite sure he hadn't. But what did it matter now, since they were already here? There was no point in picking a fight over something so minor. They crowded into a taxi, Piper silently taking the front seat while Annabeth and Percy sat stiffly in the back, a respectable space between them.

"Where are we heading to?" Annabeth asked nonchalantly. "Are we settling down in a hotel, or just—"

"Usually," he interrupted, "when we come to Sicily, we have our houses and everything. They're classified as families." He paused. "The Jacksons have their own house, and as the most powerful families in the Mafia have their own house, it is safe to say that we are a leading family. People in each family aren't exactly family; they're separated into Regiments or sections, but I've just gotten used to calling it Regiment. Each Family has their own house, more like mansion, so we stay there. There are hundreds of rooms there, and we've all got our own, but we usually have to share it with our partners, or assigned dorm mates." He raised his eyebrow suggestively, and she pointedly prompted him to keep on going with a vicious curl of her lips.

"Yeah. So we'll be staying there." Piper interjected casually. "We got some teenagers and some old people and some young people. Sounds little. Isn't really. Think we even got a few 12-year-olds."

"Hmm." Annabeth responded to both of them casually. As the silence stretched, Annabeth took out the sights around her, staring out the window—to be honest, most of the day had been used _staring out the goddamned window_ but she couldn't help herself. Curiosity did kill the cat, but as she tried to pick out the different structures, she couldn't. It was all too murky and the rain had drenched the windows, and there was a faint air of fog stirring up. She shrugged it off and turned back in her seat, when Percy's phone buzzed.

She saw the dark reflection mirroring in his eyes as he opened the call and held it to his ear, and suddenly, her heart started to beat. There was something wrong, Percy's lips were pursed. His eyes looked sort of anxious. There was something wrong. Piper looked back at them, her eyes still on Percy's form, and even her gaze flickered to Annabeth looking slightly anxious, like him. The call might not even be about her. It could be about anyone. Anything. It could be anyone on the other line.

But even then, the feeling of dread increased as Percy's eyes blew wide open, and he compressed a silent wheeze, his face steadily turning pale. Wordlessly, he handed his phone over to Annabeth, and she took it slowly, her gaze fixed on him., and how sick he suddenly looked. His eyes warned her about something.

There was something wrong. There was something going on. There was _indefinitely_ something wrong, and the feeling of dread in her chest increased. _What was wrong?_

She took the phone to her ear, and let the warm surface touch her ears. "Hello?" She asked coldly, passively, professionally. There was her voice, there was Annabeth. It was the tinkering sound of diamonds gleaming, she'd been told once, cold and frosty and extremely passive. Her voice was quiet and gentle and dangerous, and at once, she knew that this was the voice reserved for her this point on. It was quite _literally_ beginning. Here was the start, nevermind what had happened the previous days, nevermind Afansei. _Afansei_. She'd nearly forgotten him.

"Yes." An equally emotionless voice came from the other line, empty and devoid of emotion. "Is this Ms. Chase?"

"Yes it is." She stopped. She was better off not continuing. One wrong step, one wrong word, one misstep, could mean the end.

"Prepare yourself, Ms. Chase." An amused accent replaced the previously passive voice. It was energy in itself, cheerful and amused and cold and open all in the same while. "Your initiation will take place at precisely 11 PM. Be there sharp, or my men will be sent after you. Do you understand my instructions?"

She could not breathe. Percy's eyes and Piper's gaze pleaded with her to _speak_. So she spoke.

"Yes."

The line cut off, and the phone slowly settled, dead, into her lap.


	15. Your Everyday Blood Oath

**Full Summary: ** Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite entertaining and spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and before long, they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.

 **TRIGGER WARNING** : gore, detailed scenes of torture and insanity + [ **a/n** ] please consider that the details described over here are not how people are initiated into the Mafia realistically. The below are all figments of my own imagination, all crammed nicely and horrifically into a fanfiction. Ownership of the characters go straight to Rick Riordian. Whoop, and thank you for reading. Hope the initiation lived up to your standards ;)

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 **0 1 5**

 **YOUR EVERYDAY BLOOD OATH  
[ unedited ]  
[ 03.15.18 ]  
[ 9, 303 words ]**

* * *

 **HER HEART HAMMERED IN HER CHEST,** a bit like a ticking bomb, and her eyes slowly took in how Percy's face had become slightly pale, his previously relaxed composure replaced by a straight back, like a wooden board. Piper was eyeing her anxiously, concern in her eyes—and she wanted to ask her : " _Why do you care? Why do you care now? You didn't care before. Did you ever care at all? Stop worrying about me._ It was stupid and irrational but it was fully rational too, because she had a _right_ to feel this way towards this girl, this girl she used to know.

She also thought it was quite elegant how Percy's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes lingering on her slightly before turning to converse with the driver in Italian. The driver plucked off his ear warmers—Percy had made it quite evident that their conversation was best left between the three of them, whatwith the power in his eyes and the strength in his stance. He'd shown him something on his neck too, something that promptly disappeared when he'd turned to Annabeth—and listened with full attention as Percy drove off a series of well-accented words in Italian. Annabeth caught a few of them; she knew the language remarkably well, but her mind was whirling too much for her to pick it all out perfectly. Piper was pecking at her phone so fast it was alarming, and as they were both busy, Annabeth took the few moments to steady herself. Panic would get her nowhere. _Breathe_. _Breathe_. Inhale. Exhale. _Inhale_. _Exhale_. Until her mind was warm and clear and the panic that their faces had instilled into her had faded into clarity.

When Percy was done talking in his sharp accent, he turned to Annabeth, his eyes frightfully calm. The car revved up quickly underneath them, and their speed increased tenfold. "Remember," he started calmly, "when I told you that there could be as little as ten hours between the time a person is allowed to prepare? Or at least night and day, day and night?" She pulled her lips together to affirm that yes, she had heard, and Piper resumed speaking with the driver in her own, lilting, sharp Italian. "Well, the big bosses, as they call them," he repressed a snarl, she could see it, "are going to be quite harsh with you. They are going to give you a little over two hours. This is the first it's been heard. Barely any time to prepare."

"There are nearly two hours," she said, her voice deathly quiet, but even as she said it, she factored in the time it would take to drive there. Which she didn't _know_. She hadn't asked how much time it would take to get there. He registered her silent question, perhaps because it was the only question left to be asked.

"And it takes nearly two hours to get to the Jackson Residence here," he said tightly, his hands tightening on his lap, "let alone the external head Quarters, which is where they will initiate you before leading you into their official Quarters. And I've been sworn off not giving any information about the Initiation." He managed to give her a tight smile.

"Coincidence, isn't it?" A commotion began to stir up in the streets as the taxi whizzed by fitfully, bypassing even the red lights. Percy paid no attention to it, so neither did Annabeth. She hated it, but if he knew what he was doing, then she could be assured that there was nothing wrong about the rate the taxi was going at. The darkness outside did nothing to hide them and the people outside looking queerly upon them.

"Even at how fast we're going now, we'll still arrive in nearly an hour, or perhaps even a half. Piper's called another personal airplane, we'll be going in that because you definitely need the time to prepare." His eyes flickered at Piper, who had finished talking to the driver and was now spewing Italian into her phone, her voice harsh, nothing like the sweet, desperate voice that had called out to her merely hours before. The Mafia made _things_ out of people indeed.

She turned back to Percy, his emerald eyes gleaming at her in the darkness of the car. Light had fallen rapidly, a long time ago, and instead, the darkness that wasn't fully dark, illuminated by street lights, fell on them. There was no concern in his eyes, thankfully. She hated concern. There was only alarm, and the sword-sharp precision she'd come to expect. She'd come to like that precision, and felt herself answer in like. The precision was a comfort to her.

He held her gaze, as if he was trying to communicate something to her without having to physically tell her, and she met his gaze steadily, trying to figure out what he was saying. There was something wrong, she supposed, but then wasn't the whole situation wrong, according to the both of them? Wasn't it all just a big, fat coincidence? But his eyes on her were steady and sharp, passive and emotionless, but behind the empty exterior, his eyes were trying to _tell_ her something.

As they swerved corner by corner, left and right, street through sweet, foreign words lining this highway and then that, Annabeth felt a certain serenity stir up inside her., the night's shade glaring at her back. She could feel Piper's light gaze run her up and down quickly before continuing to converse lightly and quickly with someone on the other line (it seemed as if all she was doing was _talking_ today) and Percy's gaze continued to stay steady on her as they treaded quickly and swiftly through the streets. She caught a hint of some sort of conflict in his eyes.

The distance between them may as well have been miles and miles of space, when in fact, it was only a small seat that kept their distance. His eyes drilled into her gaze, alarmingly bright, always curious, a never-ending haze of seductive passion and peace and the wild, reaching out to her. Nothing could compete with the color of those eyes. And suddenly, Annabeth found herself thinking that the emerald shade of his eyes were always second to her favorite color : grey.

She'd always liked the earthiness in the color green. She'd always loved the dull sparkle of the color grey. And now, looking into those endless orbs that could easily hold the whole universe, sparkling with the light of a thousand stars, she considered, in the haze of action and panic surrounded her, that the emerald shade of his eyes may as well be her top favorite color. And she hated it. It was a passing thought, a passing thought that when she considered, exuded the truth. There was indefinitely something enticing about those deep green eyes, that could be heartless one moment and be soft and gentle and playful the next.

One minute ticked, the next minute passed. Minute per minute, second per second, but not hours. It seemed like hours, yes, the long stretch of time she found herself enshrouded in, just as she found herself enshrouded in the timelessness of his eyes, the meaning behind them lost to her like some lost message out at sea. Perhaps, because she was normally quite sharp, it was because he himself had forgotten the meaning of it too. What had he been trying to tell her? What hazed universes did his eyes hold? His eyes were lost. _She_ was lost.

How much time had passed?

It was Piper's voice that finally snapped her back to attention, and it was only then that she realized she was gripping the rest at her side unnaturally hard, her fingernails silently digging into the material. She moved her gaze elsewhere, finally breaking off the unnerving contact with his gaze. The mirror was tinted black, but if she tried to make it out, she found it came to her quite clearly. They were in what could be a garage, or a large room, or perhaps a large storage, that held an airplane nearly four times bigger than the size of a car. It was black and sleek, but not made for fashion, and there was something faintly intimidating about it. The car trilled slowly and gently as they approached the barely lit room, rolling smoothly over the metal exterior of what seemed like metal floors. Could it even be called a room? The height could hold perhaps a hundred of these airplanes, all stacked on top of eachother in one row, and the width could hold perhaps more side to side.

When had they gotten into a place that resembled a living area at all?

"Leave your things in the trunk, Annabeth," Piper said monotonously, not bothering to look at her, still tapping at her (black) phone (come to think of it, she'd never seen the model that Piper and Percy held in their hands). "You won't need any of them." The car rolled to a stop, and Piper opened the door and stepped out in a smooth motion. Percy was motionless next to her. Grey eyes blazing with curiosity, Annabeth turned to face her door, her hands moving to rest on the handlebars—and then a warm weight clamped around her arm, holding her captive in her position. His hold was warm, and his smell neared her, now slightly of pine, but mostly of . . the sea. Sand. Clean and unpolluted, a refreshment to her nose, as opposed to how beaches generally smelled. He turned her head to her silently, grey eyes still blazing. Always blazing. A never-ending fire of grey, a sky of grey, lit with the flames of colorless death, as opposed to his Greek fire.

It sounded ironic to her.

" _Annabeth_ ," he hissed quietly, and it jolted her, her real name coming out _his_ mouth. Trilling out of his lips. She refused to look at his lips, but instead fixed him with a vaguely inquisitive look, realizing that he had moved much closer to her. "I don't think you understand how alarming the situation is. Two hours seems like a bit. It's really not. This is a dangerous situation, you need to understand that. Something's up." All his words came one after the other in a quick stream, as if he were hurrying, as if he were running out of time. "You _have_ to be careful. Whatever _time_ it is, _wherever_ you are, you gotta be careful." His eyes reached out to her particularly at this moment, and she struggled to hold his gaze, trying to realize it. There was the meaning, there was the conflict in his eyes. What did it all mean? What was he trying to get at, the bastard? "Anything can happen. Anywhere. Any time." His eyes clouded with the effort it took to get what he was trying to get out, intense and sharp.

He continued to reach out to her, his eyes, for one beat, and then another one, and then the next. And then Piper was sharply rapping on his window, her gaze on him, dangerous, as if threatening him, warning him, as if he was taking a step too far. Her knock was sharp and precise, like a knife. It was brutal and harsh. His pressed lips smoothed out into a crooked smirk, his eyes relaxed, and he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, so quick that she barely felt it. He withdrew from her quickly, his face warm and reassuring.

Her forehead tingled where his lips had made contact.

"C'mon," he said warmly, his crooked smile the same she had seen in the tabloids, made for winning a crowd. "Let's go. You'll be fine." With one last reassuring look, something dark flaring deeply in his eyes for the last time, he opened the door on his side, smoothly and without preamble, and walked out as smoothly as Piper had. _Anything can happen. Anywhere. Anytime._

A slow thought surged through her, ticking like a clock inside her for one, two, three beats, and when she finally walked out, she did it with disinterest in her eyes, and sharpness in her mind.

* * *

 **THE LAST THING SHE REMEMBERED** was the sharp tinge of metal and iron, and the rest faded into the oblivion of infinity. She remembered it all fading into infinity. She just didn't remember _what_ faded into infinity. She remembered herself waking up, almost as if she had been watching herself, as if she had been there while she had been unconscious, but no, it was simply the stability of mind that reminded her. And when she finally came to, her head wasn't settled firmly where it was supposed to be. It was swaying from side to side, tipping this way and that. Blonde hair fell out from behind her, settling on her shoulders like lightweight, pretty, pretty lightweight. When she lifted her fingers to touch them, they trembled. There were warts on her hands. Her fingers weren't fingers. They were . . triangles? They were blue triangles. Her hand was _blue_.

A feeling of euphoria erupted inside her. Happy, happy, _happy_. Optimism bubbled slowly inside her like a porous disease. She wanted to pull those pretty little curls, those blonde curls, pull on them and take out her happiness and euphoria and excitement and her rage and her everything, her everything on them, those pretty little curls. She wanted to pull and pull and pull. As she bent forward, more and more blonde curls hung to her shoulders, pretty and innocent, and a sharp sound, a sharp word, a sharp laugh, something reached her ears, feeling like acid. Hah, those pretty little curls. Who did they think they were, settling against a distorted shoulder like that, as if they had all the freedom in the World and she didn't? She wanted to pull and pull and pull, until they were in her hands and they were on the floor, littering it with their soft beauty. Her hands, her fingers, they were ugly. They were ever so ugly.

She was repulsed by them. She wanted to take out the warts and the triangles and the green. She wanted to pull them out and stick them on someone else, and then jump in joy because euphoria. Euphoria. _EUPHORIA_.

Someone was laughing. Someone was laughing like a lunatic. She wanted to strangle them with her warty, green, triangle hands, her lizard hands. Green. There was something that was green, she remembered. But they were a pretty green. She wanted to see that green. Maybe then she could switch this ugly green for that pretty green. She felt so untethered. Was her head still disconnected from her neck? She looked down at black, and black, and black. And then there was liquid spilling on her, could it be coffee? Could it be coffee? Coffee was such a bitter thing, such a yummy thing. It was like acid. She wanted to burn someone with acid. She wanted to spill acid on someone, on a writhing body as it screamed. Maybe then she could understand this beautiful euphoria, this pretty blonde curl, this warty hand, this black, this liquid, this everything.

A strange word oozed into her mind. _Insanity_. _Insane_. It was echoed in the clinics of a mental hospital, a mental facility. There were two doctors talking! But they didn't have green hands . . not like she did. She didn't like them. _Insane_. _Insanity_. They were in _sane_! That was it! If they were insane . . they didn't deserve to live. Where was that acid, where was that liquid? She could force them to writhe on the floor (such a pretty word, _writhe_ ) and then pour the acid on them because they didn't deserve it, no they didn't, they didn't have green hands, they were going to burn in hell. Hah, they were going to _bur_ n in hell. And _bur_ n in acid.

No, no, no there was no acid. Then she could only strangle. She could wrap her lizard hands around their pretty little necks . . but wait. She hadn't pulled out those pretty little blonde curls yet, the ones that thought they could settle on that distorted shoulder! She had to do that first. Nono she had to, she had no choice, she would have to do it in order. The doctors, they couldn't live. They had to wait so she could strangle them after she pulled on those curls that settled so prettily against the distorted shoulder, all angles and pretty shapes.

She lifted her hands to pull on them, pull on them and pull them hard, but what came to her gaze was not those lizard hands. It was such a relief. They had been so ugly. Ever so ugly. Something, some fissure, some pressure was placed on her face. Her face? Where was her face? She was nameless and faceless . . . name was nothing but a label to her identity, but what was her identity, did she have an identity, did she need an identity, what? . . . . her hands, they were hands, yes, they were pretty and pale and dirty, but distorted too, all for the better, she could make those pretty little blonde curls dirty before she ripped them to the floor . . ah, that would be ever so relieving, to get them off the distorted shoulder. The weight on the distorted was such a burden indeed, and she absolutely loathed it.

But as she lifted her hands to them, a smooth curve, the smooth curve and feel of skin reached her pretty, dirty, pale, unadorned hand. The skin was smooth and pretty, and perfect to strangle. Oh, what was this? Forget the curls, she could strangle this. She could squeeze those pretty little hands around that pretty little curve . . both of her hands! Hah, two minds were better than one, two minds had always been better than one, two hands, two minds, all better than one, all better than one . . .She lifted the other hand and wrapped it around that pearly, smooth curve, and then she felt both of those hands around her pearly neck and pushed and pushed and pushed. There was something rasping, she wanted it to stop rasping. Shh, no, baby, stop rasping. She wanted it to be quiet. She didn't like it. Stop screaming, stop rasping, stop _burning_ , something was burning.

Something bubbled up inside her, acid was bubbling up inside her, she couldn't let out air, she couldn't . . couldn't _exhale_ , that was the word, she couldn't breathe, oh, she could not breathe, what was this, why was this happening, where was this pain coming from? _Breathebreathebreathe, please let out the air._ A strangled sob, a strangled scream, there were spots of black appearing in her vision, and where was she, where is she, why are the walls so green, why are they enclosing in on her as if they want to strangle her, what has she done? She hasn't done anything wrong.

Green. _Green_. The walls were green. They were camo green and then dark green and then lime green, and then they were emerald green, bringing back a thousand shards of the same memory to her, of emerald green eyes, sane and perfectly normal, perfectly stable, perfectly magical, perfectly enchanting. Beautiful emerald green eyes.

 _Annabeth._

 _Annabeth._ Annabeth was a name. Grey eyes and blonde hair, much like the blonde that rested against the distorted shoulder, with the scarred skin and the ripped cloth? Annabeth. It was a name uttered by the owner of those emerald green eyes, but who had owned those emerald green eyes, why had they uttered that name? But . . Annabeth was _her_ name.

Annabeth was her name.

 _Annabeth._

Emerald green eyes. The brown roots of trees grew out of the green walls and sprouted gently towards her, winding. Her hands lightened from her neck, it was her neck, and what was she _doing_ , strangling her own self? Her airways released in a whoosh of relief, and her pale hands fell to the sides like dead weight, like dead lead. Someone was panting. _She_ was panting. The roots continued to sprout towards her, winding around her waist and her hands and _her_. The echo of _Annabeth_ and a male voice flickered, the echo of a man with sandy hair flickered by, two little boys, a tall girl with ever-changing eyes, a tall girl with electric blue eyes.

And then those emerald green eyes. Emerald and green. Emerald green.

 _Anything can happen. Anywhere. Anytime._

The feeling raced out of her body, and she only faced everlasting darkness.

She had a feeling that the everlasting darkness was her future now.

* * *

 **HER CONSCIOUS RACED AHEAD OF** her physical wellbeing. Bruises littered her collarbones and her hands, ugly, scarring red marks that would stay for a while. She didn't have to physically open her eyes to know that it was there. She felt it. She felt the burns edging on her neck, on her collarbones, over her hands, on the inside of her wrist. Her head burned, as if she had been pulling her hair so much that it had physically strained the roots of her hair, thus sending her head burning with a passion that came out of pain. She felt dizzy and woozy and her body felt as if it had been used. Her hands, the bruises aside, felt as if they had been pushed and prodded, where her fingers were, and the skin felt as if it had been pinched over and over again until it felt as if her hands had caught fire.

When she first came to once again, she checked her body first, her eyes closed, waiting for the time being. The steady beating of a heart, the steady ticking of a clock buzzed patiently in her ears. Her body felt used up, as if a sliver of acid had been rubbed all over it, as if her body was deprived of said acid, and ruined because of such acid. It felt numb. She couldn't feel her body properly, each part of it searing with pain so much, she could nearly no longer feel it.

And then something cold and metallic tapped against her limps lightly, and the fire faded, as if it was being drained like water. The next thing she took notice of was her surroundings, eyes still closed. She was seated on something like a rag doll, and her neck, dull with aching pain, was tilted to the side. In addition to the numbness, she felt a large cramp start up there, and she knew that once she moved it, she would feel it.

For some reason, she yearned for the metallic, cold feel of a gun against her hands.

Yes, yes, she was seated on something, better not forget the facts, better not forget the simplistic parts of survival when one didn't know where they found themselves. _Assess your surroundings in a way that your enemies will not notice._ She may not like her father too much, but he had offered strict and genuine instructions that would pay off in the future, as they were doing now. She felt the cold metal underneath her body too, something holding her up. Something cold and unfeeling. Her legs hung out of it, unmoving, and she left it so. She had no will to move at the moment. Only assess. Whatever she was seated on also propped her back against it, as straight as a board.

She was seated on a metal chair, so cold that it was acting as an antidote to the searing, numbed fire her body felt. Next, her smelling sense started to pick up. She smelled the cool, fresh air that the air brought along with it, fresh like a darkened pearl. She smelled something both woefully and freely damp. And she smelled gunpowder. Cologne. Expensive cologne.

More importantly, she smelled blood. No, she didn't only smell blood. She could quite literally taste the blood. Afansei immediately came to mind, a fading memory, a shell of a man. Her own blood : _she_ could be bleeding. But she wasn't. Her body was scarred, and the lines cut in deep, but they weren't deep enough to bleed. It wasn't done with a knife or with an object with a particularly blunt point. She'd know if the slimy substance was on her body. It was almost as if . . someone had done this to her, with their raw selves. Fingernails, hands. But she had no memory of fighting with anyone.

Come to think of it, her mind was as murky as a swamp. The last thing she remembered was a dark interior and the delightful, exotic smell of velvet. A taxi. But that couldn't be right . . Sicilian taxis weren't made of velvet. Had she been seeing things? She remembered a lilting voice. Piper. She remembered the emerald green eyes. _Anything can happen. Anywhere. Anytime._

She began to feel nauseous, and then stopped, because her ears perked, averting her attention from the storm brewing up inside her stomach. A low moan, more an animalistic whine than a moan, had her own blood freezing in her bloodstream. The cold washed over her, and an iron grip enclosed over her heart, her soul. The moan was not a moan of passion, or one of laziness. The moan was one of raw pain, exuding such horribleness, that Annabeth could only freeze. It did not come from directly in front of her, thank the Lord himself. It came from yards away from her, but to her north. It was in the same room as her, if wherever she was in could be called a room.

Annabeth assessed her surroundings for the very last time. No solid movement, no signal of living from beside her. No movement at all, no quickening of heart beat. No sign that there was anyone with her, around her. Whether they were in this very room was unknown. The only way she would find out is if she opened her eyes.

 _Don't block out the danger. Face the danger._

She slowly cracked open her eyelids, and the bile rose up in her throat without her needing to prod at it.

She was in a room made out of metal bronze. The color was rusted gold, rusted and scraped to the shade of gleaming bronze it was now. But there was something unnaturally off about the bronze, about the shade it was—and Annabeth realized that most of it was not bronze, but dried blood. The room was empty, thankfully, other than the pitiful . . _thing_ that sat opposite her.

If Afansei had been a shell of a man, if broken men themselves were shells of men, then the statement "he was a shell of a man" was underestimated. Perhaps it was overestimated. Annabeth's mind could never erase the picture that she found herself looking at right then and there. She stared and stared.

There, sitting opposite her on a chair made of the blackest of colors, the very source of her nausea, was a man. A broken man. He had on dark, ripped trousers, and no shirt, and on his chest, were carved the words, "TRAITOR," in red. Into his skin. Next to him, next to the black chair, was a bloodied knife, slick with the red of his blood. Blood poured down his chest in droplets and then in rivulets, but his hands were tied to the arms of the chair. And, as Annabeth continued to watch, the black chair lit up with a mystic type of blue, a blue that resembled blue fire. The chair jumped, the man barely made an attempt to move, but another, horrible moan came out from the hollows of his throat. Blood frothed at his mouth, and his eyes, black as night, stared unseeing into the depths of the bronze ceiling.

There was light, not bright but dim, but its source remained unknown. There was no bulb or source in the room, just as there was both no entrance, nor no exit. She was trapped into the room, with this soulless man, delving deep into the folds of death but never yet reaching mercy. And eerie as it was, Annabeth had the faint feeling that she was being watched. And that meant the one thing that she faintly remembered thinking of before she had found herself lost in the currents of this meaningless darkness, lost in the currents of this horrible blood.

Her initiation into the Mafia was well underway. She counted on her instincts with no doubt whatsoever. If she suspected that she was being watched, then she was being watched. Perhaps she couldn't find it, the source watching her, as she couldn't know. The room was solid, and the knife, the body, her, and the gun next to her own chair aside, there was nothing else to be seen, after she had polished every surface of the room with her eyes.

She had sat long enough. She had watched long enough. Now, all there was left to do was take action. She slowly tipped her hand, the cramp in her neck now defined as she sat up slightly. Her legs trembled and the scars on her body burned momentarily as she held on to the arms of the chairs and struggled to stand up on her feet. She took her time. Nothing told her that she was running out of time. She slowly cracked each of her fingers, then she cracked her knuckles, easing out the kinks. She pushed her head to one side and then the other, forcing herself to behold the broken man as she did. He gave no sign that he knew she was there. One on the verge of death tended not to.

So she continued to ease out her muscles, all the while deciding what to do. This man faced her. She had a gun. She had a bloodied knife. She connected the dots together swiftly. A fool could too. She had to kill the man, though why she had been given a knife and a gun was . . well, she'd have to think if that was a trial in itself. And then, perhaps, she'd find an opening. She stretched out and heard the cracks in her back easing. Her clothing was dirty, her hair was still messy in the hold of the hairband. Her mind ached. Her body ached. Her soul ached.

What had to be done, had to be done. Fuck pity. She couldn't afford to sympathize, nor could she afford to pity . . . wait.

She had been given a knife and a gun. A knife created excruciating pain as it carved it's way throughout skin and muscle and tissue. It was unendurable pain for the time span it took to torture, which could have been hours. It was a torturous end to a torturous life. A gun on the other hand . . well, one shot, two shots and the man was dead. A moment of burning pain, incomparable to anything else, and then his soul was gone and so was his life. But she had to _consider_ this. The man was guilty, if the big bad boys of the Sicilian Mafia wanted him to die, and had tortured him the way they had before handing him over to her. They were testing her virtue. Her sense of humanity, compared to her sense of what had to be done. Humanity demanded she not kill at all. Her sense of what had to be done demanded that the word carved into his chest said that he was a traitor, he had done something to have been accused of a traitor, and therefore deserved his end. Her sense of what had to be done also told her that she had to find a way out of this trap.

And once humanity learned to recognize that, humanity demanded that she use the gun instead of the knife to provide a quick end to this suffering man. All she knew was that she had to kill him. She had killed once. Her first kill was not an innocent man. Her second kill did not seem to be one either.

There. She'd had herself accept it. This would be her second kill. There was no way out. She leaned out, her body aching and hollow, and stretched out quickly to pick up the gun, and the feel of the gun was cold and cool and solid against her touch. It was a beautiful relief. She let it slide into her hand, and she let herself weigh the heaviness of it. It was heavy indeed. She opened the cartridge, concentrating on it, the moment it took to steel herself against it. She did. She ignored the dull throbbing of pain. She ignored it all.

What had to be done had to be done.

The cartridge was loaded, and the heaviness of the gun was what first tipped her off. Of course. Now, all she had to do was shoot it at the man, and end his suffering. So simple. Ever so simple. She stepped a step closer to him, and then another step, bold in her descent towards him, but—but then his already opened eyes seemed to widen, panic seeping in as he struggled to turn towards her, his ruined body not helping him in the slightest.

"Please," he begged weakly. "Please, I have a family and—and—and I have children and I have people to care for, _please_ , I _beg_ of you," He was no longer a human. He was now an animal, simpering for his life in face of a hunter that had found him, trapped him, and was preparing to kill him. Annabeth watched him with interest, providing a nice, external show, in comparison to the misery welling up inside her. Pain, hurt, agony. What were emotions in face of death? She was doing this to save herself.

She said nothing to him. She simply held the gun in her hand, and continued to watch him, tinkering with the cartridge area. Alarm bells rang in her head. She was hesitating. His eyes alighted upon her, and widened even more, as if realizing that she wasn't one of his regulars.

"Listen," he said, spit flying from his mouth, desperation in his ruined expression, and she felt the repulse slither through the misery and then felt the haze of misery close over her once again. "I done nothing wrong. Please, you gotta help me. You don't know—you don't know . . _what you're getting into,_ PLEASE _!"_ The last semblance of his energy, of his humanity, of his desperation left him with the last word he spoke. Pleading would get him nowhere.

He repulsed Annabeth, and even then, her mind suddenly flashed to something. And then she spoke, her grey eyes calculating and pitying. "Guilt is a burden," she began softly, her voice a vindictive hum. "You know you're going to die now . . " She walked towards him, and then she circled him, her inner conscious screaming at her. Humanity took time to be striped away. She hadn't lost it yet. She wanted to preserve her humanity. She wanted to prove that this man was guilty to herself. ". . . so why don't I lift that burden off your shoulders?" Burden. There was a burden hanging on top of her aching body, her sharp mind. She needed an escape, she needed to pass. "Tell me," she continued on softly. "What have you done to find yourself here today?"

What had her father gotten her into?

He didn't answer. His head lolled back, any and every semblance of hope leaving his body, but not before Annabeth caught it. Not before Annabeth saw the burden, the guilt in his eyes. A weight unjustified. The kill was going to justify things.

"I will offer one chance, and one chance only." She snarled poisonously, her blonde hair dancing around her shoulders, stray pieces that had fallen out of their hold. Chances, chances. Her head pounded like bullets pounding into his skull. "Would you like peace in death? Tell me."

One.

Two.

Three.

"Goodbye," she murmured, her eyes narrowed on his pathetic form, and her finger pushed the trigger. No scream erupted when bullet collided with flesh, and blood splattered on her clothes. When she circled directly him and held her hand lightly, absolutely disgusted, to the inside of his wrist, she found no pulse. She wiped his blood on her clothes, before looking towards all ends and edges of the room. The panel of bronze behind her own metal chair remained woefully empty of opening, but something had emerged. In space of the unbothered smoothness of it, a circular panel about the width of her hand appeared, the edges in black. She walked towards it, her boots thudding on the metal floor, and firmly pressed her palm to it. There was no doubt now. The deed had been done.

Her mind was dreadfully empty of sound, motion, feeling. Of everything. She pushed the panel, and whatever was inside it trilled smoothly out of its spot. A black disk came out, and on top of it was a smaller, white disk, only the size of the span between her thumb and her index finger. An unadorned knife with a blood red hilt, tiny in size, but blunt in edge was right next to the disk.

She silently picked it up and held it to the inside of her palm, creating a line of thick blood as she did so. Her already weakened body weakened further. She could feel it. She felt utterly drained. She squeezed her palm and held it directly above the white disk, and watched patiently as the blood fell on the disk. As soon as the blood spread, covering the whole of the white disk and never falling any further, the circular disk closed.

She waited for one second, two seconds, three. And then, slowly, with a gently swiveling sound that came from behind her and from in from in front of her, an even larger circular panel opened, big enough for three people her size to crawl through. She moved to the side as it slowly started to open from the inside, as if someone was opening it from the other side and pushing it this way.

But there had been a sound from behind her. Curiosity taking her empty conscious, empty mind, empty heart, human heart, she turned around. The dead man, still seated on his chair, which was still glowing blue, remained unmoving, but a circle had opened beneath them, radiating something underneath them that was clean and white. He slowly descended downwards, the movement graceful, the chair moving down slowly, until she could only see the top of his lolling head.

And then he had submerged completely, and the panel underneath him had closed. She turned back towards the large circular panel, and looked into barely discernible darkness. The panel had opened completely, and so she had no choice to step forward.

She stepped through to the other side.

* * *

" **CONGRATULATIONS**." **A STRICT, MALE VOICE** boomed in the darkness, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, she made out several figures, lined up around the room that made for professionalism. Each figure, be it masculine or feminine, muscular or petite, strong or weak, stood in a perpetually stiff position that made the situation extremely intimidating. A blue light surrounded them, sort of like that of a device. At the opposite head of the room was a man with old, sharp, darkened planes. Grey streaks lined his hair, but the color of his eyes was hard to tell. He had his hands strictly propped at his stomach, back as straight as a rod, just as every other figure in the room stood. "You have passed your second trial. Your reasoning is admirable. Your kill is level to your status. You have passed the first and second trial, and your third approaches. Your blood is your liege."

He didn't speak after, but his eyes continued to watch her, as if seeking a response. And when she spoke, she was the old Annabeth again. Icy, passive, emotionless Annabeth. Annabeth made of ice. There was no warmth for her to prop up against and draw fire from.

"Yes." She didn't speak quietly. She was not pathetic. She did not speak loudly or boldly. They would not take nicely to an arrogant show of power. She spoke liltingly and sharply and to the point.

"And now for your second trial." A door behind him banged open, and a lone man stood at the door. Orange hair, brown eyes. Shackled, dirty hands, torn trousers. Broken expression. Just like the man she had just killed.

Her father met her eyes pleadingly.

He walked to the absolute middle of the room, with the same balance of space between the strict man that had spoken and her. His hands shook with tremors and his eyes overflowed with misery and emotion. _A shell of a man. A shell of a man. A shell of a man._

 _"_ Kill him, Ms. Chase. Prove your loyalty to us."

Annabeth's soul was sucked into a vortex and sank into the floor, sank into nothingness.

"What has he done?" She spoke with the same voice, acted with the same, passive voice. And when the man next spoke, there was extreme dislike in his voice. A step too far. She had misspoke. She was simply being cautious (and avoiding the reality behind this. This was not her father. This was another man. She would face this detached, and come out unhurt.)

It hurt to think about how Jackson's warm grip would feel now, to momentarily extinguish the iciness building up in her insides.

"He is traitorous to our cause. He has contacted the enemy." He paused stiffly. "Prove your loyalty to us. Kill him." She lifted the gun, the gun she no longer felt in her hands, her hands had gone that numb. She lifted it, looked her father straight in the face, all strength of humanity fading, and pushed the trigger. Blood splattered all over her once again. Two mean reached out before he could hit the floor, and dragged him out of the room. Blood poured, but no sound was made from the impact of his body on the darkened floor.

Next, they dragged in Helen.

Time slowed. Time quickened.

"Prove your loyalty to us."

Annabeth shot her, staring her bloodied form straight in the face. Helen didn't speak a word. She only dropped to the floor like stone, and before she could hit the floor, she was dragged away.

They brought in Luke. She shot him. Friends from high school, acquaintances from college. One, then two, then three. She shot one after the other, one after the other, one after the other. "P _rove your loyalty to us. Prove your loyalty to us. Prove it. Prove it. Prove your loyalty to us._ " A chant began to rise in her ears.

It was almost as if she were watching it happen. She was no longer human. She was no longer living. She was the dead, dying alongside these dead bodies, and in some locked crevice in her mind, after they had brought in and taken away all the dead bodies and they motioned at her to move along, Annabeth had the grace to thank the God himself that they hadn't brought in Bobby and Matthew.

Or Percy.

* * *

 **SHE WATCHED THE REST OF IT HAPPEN** as if it were a dream. After they took Jake Mason, her biology partner from all throughout high school, whom she had shortly dated before they had decided to split apart, they took her to another room. And there, she was pushed into a chair, as a tattoo artist bent her neck down, straightened her legs on the seat, and started to pick at a stash of needles and ink.

There was a clock just opposite her, she noticed. So she counted each second, she noticed each minute, she held track of each hour that passed as she was forced to endure through excruciating pain, as the tattoo artist poked and prodded and dragged her needle and ink on the left side of her neck. She endured even more excruciating pain as she finished with her neck, and then moved to right under her collarbones, very near to her shoulders.

She counted the time.

Three hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-five seconds before the pain lightened even slightly. She couldn't even think as it happened. She was detached. She was a dead body. When the artist finally let go of the collar of her shirt and moved away from her, she only closed her eyes for a moment.

It was 5:30 in the morning when the tattoos were finished. She'd been intercepted near 9 in the morning. But she stayed silent and stood up when she needed it to, feeling the prickles of blood and pain run down her neck. Each step was heavy, each step was silent and quiet. She could no longer think. Something in her conscience that there was something obviously infinitely wrong about the situation before. They couldn't just bring people in like that, one after the other.

But there was no point in getting her hopes up before they could be confirmed, so she simply followed the men out the door when the tattoo on her neck was done. She was detached. She did not look down at it to see what damage had been done, and what additions had been made. She followed the men out the door into another room, and immediately scanned for danger, her mind weary and full of burden.

This new room, however, exuded coldness. The darkness. It was marble, but grey, and a chandelier hung gorgeously from the ceiling, unused, torches lighting the room, lined perfectly. And there, just in the center of the room, was a wooden table. A man stood in front of it, dark-haired and bearded, his eyes a violent shade of violet, grey streaked into both his hair and his eyes. He stood straight, in the signature clothing of these people that surrounded her, but the minuscule difference was that there was something purple in one of his breast pockets, something purple that faintly resembled a flower.

The three or four people behind her stopped moving, and she took it as to mean that she was the one to go up and meet this man, and stand behind the desk. The opening of the desk faced her, the other side faced him; so she took it as nicely as an invitation. As she neared the man, he appraised her coldly, with detachment in his expression. He had no emotion, and neither did anyone else in these so-called trials. She was deprived of physical energy. Each step she took ached with a past pain. She was deprived of emotional pain. _Human. Human. Human._

She stepped forward, one step after the other, one step after the other, until she came level with the desk and stood facing this violet-eyed man. Dark amusement brewed in his eyes, and when he spoke, it was the same merry, jolly voice that had spoken to her on the phone, though this time, the sharp tinge and accent in his voice couldn't be ignored. She _heard_ the Italian in his voice clearly. "Congratulations, Ms. Chase. You successfully fought off Trial #1, and that, in itself, is a feat indeed." He watched her eerily as he said so. "As for Trial #2, you faced it with a level of humanity and a premonition of what needed to be done. You have passed. Trial #3, I'm sure you know, is to be admired. You killed with deadly precision, considering you knew all those people." His words were calm and slow. "And it was necessary to prove your loyalty to us. We take no less than the best. As for Trial #4, which consisted of the mark on your neck and the tracker inserted into your shoulder, you have passed. We congratulate you on your bravery and success. Now, lies before us, is your fifth and final trial."

In front of him was a piece of parchment, old and worn but still graciously lined with gold. This parchment was not paper, like how was usually used throughout the world, but the historic type of parchment. The one you would see in past Egyptian times. Annabeth took careful notice of this, her precision overcoming her. "Nothing difficult. You've faced worse, and will face worse in the future. It's a Blood Oath." Ah yes. Only a Blood Oath. Wonderful. Just as wonderful as her blood freezing in her bloodstream, as it was doing now. He reminded her of poison. Dark purple poison. Something faintly . . god-esque tugged at her about him, his potbelly aside. (His potbelly obviously stuck out (though slightly) out of his suit).

A Blood Oath was never to be taken lightly. A Blood Oath was concocted of a ballpoint pen that pricked your blood, drew your blood, and used your blood as ink to write, and parchment, that once crossed—well, all that could be said was that you may as well commit suicide, because the results of a betrayal were worse than death itself. "You will prick your finger with the blood, and sign with the blood you draw. That will ensure us that this agreement is signed in blood, and if betrayed, it will . . end in blood. It is to make sure that this stays within you forevermore." She nodded firmly, watching him, watching as her gaze dispatched him, unsteadied him, and then as he looked back at her with a raised eyebrow.

She leaned down, and picked up the black ballpoint pen. Using her right hand to hold it, she pricked the index finger of her left hand, and once blood bloomed from the wound, she latched it firmly onto the paper where it told her to imprint. She squeezed the blood out of her index finger, even going as far as to prod it even further for more blood to use as ink, as she signed her name where it needed to be signed. But she wasn't stupid. She carefully read through it, both English and Latin, taking note of every single word.

There were alot of terms.

1\. _You will pledge your life to the Sicilian Mafia, and answer when called._  
2\. _Be honorable. You will respect your elders, leaders, and you will respect their dignified wives. Any disrespect aimed towards them will result in punishment._  
3. _You will never kill a child; you will never harm a child. Any children guilty will be brought immediately to headquarters to be dealt with in proper manner.  
_ 4\. CODE OF SILENCE _: you will never rat out your brothers and comrades. Be loyal to members of the organization. Do not interfere with another's interest.  
5\. Always be rational in times of battle. Do not engage if victory is out of your reach.  
6\. Keep your eyes and ears open, but your mouth shut._

Annabeth's dull eyes lingered fractionally on #12 :

12\. _Personal connections can not get in the path of a partnership. Be it family or friend, you are a man of the Mafia. Attachment is not appreciated, and will only get you killed._

There was no problem in attachment. She didn't get attached too easily. But she could think of more than one person that could result in her breaking this particular code. After reading through all 57 codes, though, and assuring herself thoroughly that she hadn't missed anything, she drew blood. Again and again. She drew blood, and then more blood from her already exhausted supply, from her already exhausted body. And when every blank was occupied with the imprints of her signature in blood, she gently propped the ballpoint pen down, loathing it.

The violet-eyed man's eyes swerved sharply to the parchment, assessing its contents and her additions thoroughly. When he looked back up after several moments of silence, he cracked a malicious grin, his voice a mystic pathway, accented with the spice of a different native language.

"You now live by the gun and the knife, and you shall die by the gun and the knife. We only hope that it is in honor." He gave her a mock salute, eyes gleaming with frightful intensity, and mockingly gestured his hands, the movement grand, to the door at the opposite of the room. "Your _new comrades_ await you on the other side."

* * *

 **[a/n]** : _naturally, it needs to be edited. oh well. anyway, i couldn't add a note for ch. 14 bc i was in a hurry. and now, here we are (you know ch. 14 was a month ago i'm so amazing) and another note : next update will be in a while, guys. not in terms of months and years, of course, but i'm talking weeks. how was the chapter? and, with everything that's happened . . would you say that Annabeth acted appropriately in response? and what would you say about the initiation itself? did it live up to your standards?_

 _ah shit. this has been a long chapter. we're 800 words from 10k here, guys. i just wanted to save up the . . other stuff for the next chapter and compile your so called "trials" into this chapter. and speaking of the other stuff :_

 _ahem. attention, percabeth shippers. :)) shit's coming up. may your hearts burst in euphoria._


	16. Mirage

**Full Summary ** : Annabeth Chase, an impassive, though quite impressive woman who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high i There's no love in their relationship: one's too formal, and the other is too much of a dick. Annabeth perceives him to be a whore, though she secretly finds him quite spirited, and Percy finds her to be a prude, though annoying her has it's benefits. These haters can't help but become physically attracted to one another, and b they both find themselves unable to stop touching the other. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe lust will dominate.

* * *

 **0 1 6**

 **MIRAGE**  
 **[** unedited **]**  
 **[** 07.01.18 **]**  
 **[** 6.1K words **]**

* * *

 **ANNABETH DIDN'T THINK** she'd been this drained and useless in the entirety of her life. She could barely remember the past few minutes of her life, and every single vile act she'd performed passed her mind and drained from it, like a disease she could barely feel but would come to bite her in the ass later on. Everything felt like a fucking _mirage_.A mirage; that was all it was. If she could get herself to believe that it was all a mirage, her entire morning had been a mirage, her current mental instability could come to pass. Because that was she was :

 _Mentally unstable_ at the moment. It could have been that an entire night of sleep had been wiped from her, something poisonous had ransacked her consciousness and left her feeling vile. It could have been that her breath rattled in her lungs like a child's toy, or it could have been that her entire body was covered in dust and blood and grime. _Mirage. Everything is a mirage._ She couldn't see straight, she couldn't think straight, she couldn't even feel straight as she lumbered out the exit and into an exterior where fluttering champagne covered sheer white tables, silent women with intrinsic bodices drank wine from bottles, and men conversed in groups. There were polite congrats and gratitude murmured towards her and she acknowledged it all with a fluttering smile that ripped her insides to little pieces.

She only first began to feel her true self again when she finally caught sight of Percy. Her breathing caught in a sharp exhale of relief. Seeing him was like taking a great big gulp of air after having surfaced from an ocean that was successfully trying to drown her. It was being deprived of air for a long, long time and surviving through it just barely and then finally taking in that first, gratuitous inhale. He was her breath of fresh air in a world where her surroundings either faded to darkness or to gray and everything swam around her and no one but him thought to catch her as she fell into a pitless depth of decaying darkness.

Peculiar, considering it was just yesterday that she had been wanting to bash his head in. It was a dangerous thought, and an even more dangerous feeling, but with her current state, she was relieved for the familiar presence. She strode towards him, wanting nothing more to break down, and when she caught the look of careful blankness on his face, she grabbed a glass of champagne as well. Damned pretenses. In a world where _she_ handed out the pretense, it was her breaking down under the pretense now. She needed rest to be able to compose herself again.

She took a sip of champagne, the cool taste grounding her, before striding towards Percy and allowing him (only for show) to lightly put an arm around her waist, so lightly so that it barely touched her. His face remained marble and passive to perfection, the slope of his nose unchanged, an amused quirk of his lips and a slight movement of his eyes the only thing acknowledging her, but expression in his eyes themselves remained cool and unchanged, as if her instability wasn't any issue of his. She found this attitude of his peculiar, though this could be considered a normal aura coming from him. She gave him a cold, unimpressed look and he returned her look blankly.

"You look fine. Everything went smoothly, I presume?" His gaze held hers. _You knew, didn't you, you foxy bastard_? Thus his peculiar behavior in the car. He'd been trying to warn her when he'd had no business in warning her beforehand. Perhaps (no, most likely) he was told to keep this information from her so she would be vulnerable and without practice when the time came. But the fact that he had still tried to get the hint across to her was faintly touching, but she didn't mention any of this to him.

"Smooth as it can go," her voice was like clinking glass, one of the voices she reserved for when she was feeling tired but dangerous, and since the offhand look of him was starting to bother her (damn the pretenses, seriously) she turned to acknowledge the man he had been talking to before she had interrupted, and the old man eyed her back thoughtfully.

"Hello," she said graciously, and the man nodded in response, a faint, boyish grin tugging at his lips. He had brown eyes and brown hair, leaned on a cane of steel and silver, and was very, very tall. He was a few inches taller than Percy, and even Percy was tall. Pretty tall (at least she was almost as tall. You could barely tell the difference). He held out his hand amiably, "You're Annabeth Chase, then?" She took it firmly and nodded ( _I really want to go to bed, Percy, can we go already)_ pleasantly _. "_ I am Chiron, Percy's instructor and soon to be yours, to judge your skills in the fighting department and improve them." She supposed the steel cane was for purposes other than walking then. "I've heard alot about you, I must say," his eyebrows were raised, eyes appraising her and lips twitching. She tried to give him a polite smile on her own, judging his character swiftly.

"Hopefully all good things," she said amiably, making a swift decision to like this man. His eyes sparkled with life, and admittedly, even though it looked like he was laughing at something, she didn't get the impression that he was laughing at her. His aura in general affected her pleasantly (or maybe negatively, she wasn't sure she was in the right state to judge).

"Of course, of course. I've heard great things from your father, and from Percy," and she realized that he pointedly didn't address Percy has _her husband._ She liked this little fact about him too, as if he recognized that she and Percy were two different beings. He lowered his voice. "I've known Percy since he was a child. We all know that Percy is a bit of a pain to deal with," he continued, Annabeth's judgement of him increasing cheerfully; any person she could talk bad about Percy with was a person she could like, "but personally, I think you'll do perfectly in tempering him." He winked, before looking at Percy scornfully. "He's a bit of a child that needs to grow up, and you'll do perfectly."

Her lips curled into a genuine grin even amongst her slowly dying brain as she caught the betrayed expression on Percy's face, his eyes lowered. She lowered her voice conspiratorially as well. "To be frank, I'm happy to find someone who shares my opinions on him. He's a bit of a child, isn't he?" Chiron nodded, a serious look on his face.

"I'm hoping to see some development in him with you around, Ms. Chase," and immediately, Annabeth told him that the formalities weren't necessary. Chiron smiled. "Annabeth. Lovely name. Well, it was nice meeting you, Annnabeth and I will probably be seeing you tomorrow. But as all of this is probably a bit of a shock, I advise you both to go home before any other intruders come to barrage you." He winked again. She had just begun saying goodbye when Percy interrupted, his face remaining unchanged.

"Thank you so much, Chiron. I really appreciate your judgement of me," his gaze showed his betrayal for just a simple second, his voice childish and mocking, before his expression cleared. Chiron's mouth quirked again. "We'll be going now," and firmly taking Annabeth's wrist, he marched her away. Annabeth managed to grin at Chiron one last time, sharing a look with him behind Percy's back, before letting Percy take her away. It wasn't as if she had the energy to balance herself anyway. She was very much ready to collapse.

* * *

 **SHE PRESSED THE BUTTON, THE WINDOW** swerved down, and the blast of cold, morning air made her feel slightly satisfied. That didn't do anything about the tension in the car—but _why_ , what's the point, _she's_ the one who had gone through hell and back in the span of less than twelve hours, how come _she_ was being given the silent treatment? What, did being initiated suddenly change everything in a way she couldn't _possibly_ understand? What the _hell_? She was beginning to get fed up.

The car trilled lightly underneath her, and her insides shook, so she turned her face towards the window, grateful for the early morning dew, laid her head back, and basked in the silence. Yard by yard, mile by mile flew by in silence, except she wasn't really sure _what_ it was for and her head was buzzing; she didn't have the _energy_ for this. Maybe she was stupid to think that their bickering was a normality. Maybe she shouldn't come to expect anything from whatever they were—something less than friends ( _hah_! friends! with _him_!) and more than acquaintances.

She was well aware that the scenery outside would have otherwise astounded her, but when she couldn't really put into words the trauma she'd endured, the mirage she'd lived through, something that seemed like a dream (perhaps it was, she'd hope so) the only thing she could be sure in was that she was _tired_. Pretty damn tired. Also, she was sure she was getting the dirt and blood and sweat on her clothes all over her seat, but she wasn't sure she cared, because she was being given the silent treatment for no reason whatsoever, he deserved it—also . . why did she care if he was giving her the silent treatment? It wasn't as if he was someone important enough to _care_ —

The car abruptly turned to a stop, with no headlights to stop it, and no otherwise indication that they should have stopped. For the first time in the entire damning car ride, Annabeth turned to look at Percy, who's hands were clenched tightly around the steering wheel, his previously passive expression now a very tight, very pale, very _ticked_ expression. They had stopped at the side of a very lonesome highway (Sicily was quite clean) and there was no one else in sight.

The sudden lack of an exhilarating breeze bothered Annabeth. She wanted to go home—wherever home was. Where was her home? It wasn't where Helen was, she'd left that. It wasn't their place back at New York, they wouldn't stay there all the time. Skip past through all the hotels they'd been through—where was home _now_? Wherever the Mafia took her? Wherever she was told to go—no. She wasn't a dog. Wherever . . . Percy was? He was, admittedly, the only constant throughout all of this. She had money but she had no home. How ironic.

"What?" She snapped, but with no bite. She sounded more tired than anything, too tired to snap at him. "Did we break down?" No, she really didn't think they did. It seemed like there was something wrong with Percy rather than there being something wrong with the car (also, who's car was this?)

Percy swallowed, and Annabeth could see his Adam's apple bob in the curvature of his throat. He had a very nice throat. "Look, I'm really tired, so can we—" He abruptly turned towards her, his elegant orbs looking conflicted and almost . . . concerned. A bit anxious. For what? Who? _Her_? She resisted the urge to snort, but there was no denying it—the look in his eyes was quite genuine. Impossibly genuine. Maybe he was a good actor. He wasn't the heartthrob of Hollywood (had he acted? he had to be famous for more than just his company, had she read up on that?) for no reason. But there was something intimately realistic in his gaze that made her believe that perhaps he wasn't completely faking it.

"Are you . . . okay?" His fingers drummed on the steering wheel anxiously and he swallowed again, his shoulder jerking as if he wanted to reach out to touch her but kept himself at bay. His eyes moved from every crack and crevice in her face anxiously. "They fucked with your head real bad. Even Piper thought it was too extreme. They didn't want you to make it through it." Silence. Annabeth made a noncommittal sound of confusion. Well yes, they had ' _fucked_ ' with her head pretty badly, but he made it sound like something else entirely. As if she'd been poisoned. Drugged. _Drugged_? Her mind felt a little bit fuzzy.

Without thinking, he reached out to brush a strand of stray hair away from her face, settling warmly at her neck. His touch was comforting. "Yeah, they—they gave you _Mirage_. It's a level two dosage drug, very closely level one. It's one of the higher ups and most people would have gone insane. You're very lucky that you weren't given the 2.0 version of it, because it would have fucked you up even worse."

"What?" Her voice was simply and confused. _Mirage_? That wasn't really possible. Was he talking about a literal mirage, like a dreamscape, the opposite of reality, or . . ? The drug _Mirage_? They couldn't have. They couldn't have they couldn't have they couldn't have. That was so against the legal law, even the moral law of conduct, even in the Mafia . . . ? But she didn't even know how they worked, not completely. No wonder the word _mirage_ had echoed dully in her head. He rubbed his face, which was beginning to turn from pale to red.

They wouldn't—couldn't dare. That was so beyond even her own expectations—what was she getting into? He closed his eyes tightly and Annabeth watched him limply. They'd messed with her brain, her mind, her conscience, her _crown_. They'd messed with her intellect, the only thing she had when everything else faded to black.

"We didn't know they were going to drug you, we were told you were being put into a virtual landscape to test your _undying loyalty,"_ he snarled out the last two words. "Yeah, as if they'd expect you to be loyal without you even knowing them. They gave you a doze of Mirage—it's _fucked up,_ " he hit his steering wheel harshly, so hard she almost flinched, but only because this revelation was off-putting, to put it lightly. "A package, even a box of it is so rare, and they wasted an entire dose on you." Hist fist clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched. His gaze rove over her face and didn't move away. No, he wasn't worried, he was terrified. She was almost fearful to ask why. "They could've killed you. Your heartbeat started to slow dangerously at some point after you'd taken the dose. Addicts take it in half-pints to get to the highest of highs, and they gave you an entire dose." He ran a hand through his face. "9% of the world's population could have survived that. I can't _fucking_ believe this."

"Wait," she said sharply. "You're telling me the entire ritual was my mind screwing with me?" All of that? The numbness, the pain and then the painlessness—the truth of it shook her so hard she couldn't breathe. She wasn't sure if it would have been better if it had been real or hadn't for her—both options still screwed with her conscience. A bitter smile graced his face.

"Nah, they would never be that lenient, the damned bastards. The second stage was real, the one where you had to kill the guy. And the last stage was real. The actual induction. The rest of it was the drug." She couldn't breathe, her lungs were closing up, but was it relief? Was it horror? She'd taken one human life, not a hundred. It was the least to be expected from this. But wait. How had he known what stage what was happening in?

"Were you watching the entire thing?" She asked coldly, a glacial edge to her voice. At this, he finally turned away, unable to look at her, his voice portraying a raw edge that took the glacial edge off to her voice entirely. He had been affected by this too.

"i had to," he said finally, his voice low. "They weren't too sure on partnering up a married couple as a duo, because they had issues about emotional entanglements getting in the way of getting our tasks done. So they had me watch the entire thing and watched me watch you to judge. If you were to die, they want me to get the job done. If I were to die, they want you to get the job done. You're not under my wing anymore—" She managed to faintly scowl at this, "—you're your own person, in terms of the Mafia." Shooting her one last look that looked much too emotional for her tastes but still touched her, he jammed the keys in the ignition and began to drive again after a few moments. "You die, your problem, I die, my problem."

"I . . know." She said slowly, not sure about what else to say. She honestly wasn't sure what she'd gotten herself into, and the look in his eyes as he glanced at her through the mirror told him he was wondering the same, but hadn't he been in this business for years? Should this really have surprised him? Should she really _care_? _Could she rest now?_

Silence ensued, long and empty. Finally he said, "You can rest. It's going to take a while to get home." His voice frightfully empty. Barely able to digest this information with her infested mind, she could only look at him and then look away, and then rest her head and shut her eyes tightly.

 _Home_.

Where was home anymore?

* * *

 **THE FEELING OF SATISFACTION THAT** spread through her body as she stood underneath the shower was one of the most relieving sensations she had felt in a long, long while. It felt as if she hadn't taken a shower for days, maybe even weeks. When was the last time she had showered? The last time she had rested? Midnight fading into dusk, the poison seeping into her conscience, killing one, killing two, killing three, killing none, killing _all_ —it felt like an entire week, an entire month, timeless enough to make her feel as if it had been happening for a long, long while.

She inhaled slowly.

She exhaled slowly.

She dug her fingers into her hair and faced the shower wall, closing her eyes and just feeling the sensation of the cold, cold water. Hot water would have been the better option for her, it rid her of germs and whatnot, but the cold water was a sharp, prickling feeling that left her struggling to breathe but all the while, relieved of the numbness. Who's blood was that tinting the water on the shower floor, draining slowly and steadily? Was it her or was it someone else? Had she cut herself, wounded herself at all? Or was it just her mind that had been wounded and ruined?

She'd have to do her research on Mirage, and figure out if it was just a high or if it had long-term effects. Her mind was settling into stability now, with the cold water brutally bringing her back to the present. It had always been sufficient in keeping her awake when she'd been up all night with work and plans, when she couldn't and wouldn't sleep. Cold water rooted her to the ground and kept her in the present, never straying.

Slowly, without opening her eyes, she turned the handle and adapted as the cold water turned hotter, and then hotter, and then hotter still. And then it was the prickling sensation of heat that was erasing the cold, bitter touch of cold water. She lathered soap and washed her body, lathered soap into her hair and washed that off too. The hair conditioner smelt faintly of Piper.

A Piper she used to know, at least. She used the same one, all these years? Was this her bathroom she was using now? She washed off her hair and then hesitantly turned off the water, pushing open the shower curtains and drawing the towel to dry her body thoroughly. She stepped out and efficiently put on a white button-down shirt and a pair of black tights—both smelled alot like Piper. Yeah, the Piper from before. Percy had told her that Piper had laid out clothes for her for when she came _home._ Percy had quietly told her that _s_ he'd told Percy to specifically tell her that she didn't choose according to fashion, she chose according to comfort. Come morning, it would get extremely hot because it was _summer,_ and it was only because it was dusk that it wasn't too hot now.

Annabeth internally snorted, her mind clearing. As if she cared what she wore to bed. She slowly opened the door and pattered out, grabbing a towel on the way to dry her hair, which was still dripping with water. She was only going to bed now, and she'd have to wake up in only a few hours . . . it was nearly 5 in the morning now, wasn't it? She'd be sharing Percy's room with him because they still hadn't "renovated" her room yet completely, though she was fairly sure she had heard Percy murmuring something about his father when he'd told her.

Did she have to share a bed with him too? As long as she wore clothes, didn't burn to death, and felt comfortable, she didn't quite care—it took great pains to admit, but she almost trusted Percy enough to sleep next to her. She trusted a playboy, a fuckboy, who had wormed his way into a million different panties the same way now, but right now, that did not hit her so hardly. With the circumstances, she saw a different Percy, so a different Percy came to mind. Soon enough, millionaire Percy would return.

Did she have to guard her heart around him? She'd like to think not, but she was getting much too comfortable around him now, and she found this alarming. They may be married, but they'd probably be divorcing in 5 years or something. The idea of giving in to him horrified her. She imagined it was the same for him when it came to her. But she'd have to be sleeping in his room right now . . . except he'd said nothing about whether he'd be sleeping with her.

For one night, the idea of just sleeping (and only sleeping) with him didn't seem that bad. She didn't mind it. But it was only because of his surprising anxiety and the rawness in his expression because of what had become of her. He cared to some extent about what happened to her, for some godforsaken reason, though they didn't particularly like eachother too much (also, what were they again?)

She easily sidestepped all the pairs of heels and screwdrivers and nails and sparkling rocks and stuff that littered the floor—she'd also been told that around 6-7 different people lived in this house, and they were all in his immediate segment or something like that. Piper Mclean was included. She wasn't in the mood to be asking questions, so she decided to reserve questions for the next morning. She'd figure it all out then. She was tired. The hallways were quiet and silent, each door closed. Some rooms were taken, some lived downstairs, but at the end of the hall, she turned to the left and opened the door to Percy's room. She stepped in, closed the door quietly behind her, and wrapped the towel around her hair because she was dripping all over the place.

These kids were millionaires, she was sure. Well, Percy was, she sort of knew that for sure but either they had bought the entire suite-house or they were all chipping in to rent it. She absentmindedly started drying her hair. She was quite sure it was the former. The living room and kitchen were two different things, two very artistically done places, she'd have to inspect them thoroughly when she woke up again later, but Percy's room was both gorgeously messy and temptingly sweet. Pictures of him and his mother littered his nightstand, she was quite sure there were two or three stuffed animals littering his floor, among all the other things. It looked clumsily clean, as if someone had made an attempt to clean it very quickly, which was what probably had been while she had been showering. The bed was large and the bedsheets were blue, and there were stars on the ceiling and a telescope outside the balcony—yeah, he had a balcony too. She'd barely registered it while in the driveway, but the house had looked splendid from the car outside too.

A soft touch slowly withdrew the towel from her hands and she stood motionless, allowing him to do it for some reason that she could not quite decipher. Her chest started to beat a rhythm quite irregular off her normal one—it played faster somehow, as a familiar touch slowly breezed by her neck to gather her hair in one place before she felt the towel moving gently over her head and around her hair. She knew it was him, and she knew this moment was somewhat outside of the strict boundaries they had created (but sleeping together sort of was too) but for some damning reason, she let him. She let him dry her hair, which was an almost affectionate movement coming from him of all people, but perhaps he was only being soft with her because he had seen what she had faced and wanted to . . be nice.

But what if he was pitying her? Sympathizing? She didn't need his pity, and she was glad to find this single fraction of Annabeth again. But she liked it, the way his fingers were over tangled into her hair, pulling lightly to make sure there were no stray droplets of water, before beginning to dry her hair with the towel again. When he was done, he lowered the towel, and gently turned her around to face him.

She couldn't let this get to her. It didn't really mean anything real. It didn't mean anything at all. She couldn't allow herself to believe it. _But then why are you doing it? Are you messing with me? You know I'm not in a good state! You were worried!_ So what did it mean? Why was it all so confusing?

When she turned to face him, the look in his emerald green eyes was damp and silent. He was still anxious. He held the towel limply in one hand and grasped her with the other hand, so their eyes met indefinitely. It honestly wasn't fair; his entire physical self was utter perfection. He'd taken a shower so his hair was still dripping water and his hair fell into his eyes in a way that if Annabeth couldn't control herself, her insides would turn into much and then more mush. His lips were curved not in a smirk, or a grin, or anything teasing; the slope of them was tinted with worry. There was a look in his face and look in his eyes that rooted her to the spot and made her want to stand in that moment, forever and ever and ever. He was doing _things_ to her, things no one had ever done before, making her insides feel weird in a way she'd never felt before. He wore a t-shirt and shorts that did not _help_ anything.

She tipped her hat off to the fact that he was physically heaven. Anyone would feel that way with him. She should mark it off as insignificant, but in this moment, in this position, with that look in his eyes and that expression in his face and his hair in his eyes like that, with something akin to desire bubbling in her abdomen, she felt something shift.

"I couldn't," he said finally, his eyes roving in between the crevices in her face in a way that didn't make her condition any better. "I couldn't tell you. They would've ruined me and they would've ruined you." His lips flickered to the side. "They've taken an interest in you, Chase, and I don't know why. You're very, very important to them and they won't tell me why. I couldn't say a word."

"I know," she said quietly. It felt like speaking too loud would destroy a moment that had come too soon—or a moment that was too genuine, too emotional, where there was nothing to back it up. This made no sense, but she found herself enjoying it and she hated that. "They don't know me. They could've just been experimenting on me with Mirage . . "

"No," he said firmly, and he inched closer just slightly. "You haven't heard them like I have. You haven't seen it. They're actually very, very interested in you, and I don't know why. They wouldn't tell me. They denied it too." She nodded slightly. Their proximity was enough to make her dizzy . . . he was very, very close and she was very, very close—and too late. His gaze flickered to her lips and the urge to lick her lips out of self-consciousness overwhelmed her. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on herself, it smelled alot like vanilla and something sweet and something salty and something she wouldn't really mind—

She didn't do it. She didn't do anything. She was tired. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't even know what was going on, except that Percy was very, very close to her, a proximity that was considered well beyond intimate, and she wasn't making any mood to turn away. She'd just taken a shower and her body was warming.

"I'll find out soon enough," she said quietly. He nodded, his gaze still on her, almost as if he were drinking the sight of her in—it was such an immediate change from brooding, perverted Percy to a softer, rawer, anxious Percy that she wasn't sure what to think. She felt trapped. She felt aroused. But he still didn't move away and she didn't move away and they stayed within the same intimate proximity.

She needed rest. Maybe the drug was screwing with her again. This couldn't be real.

"But—" If she didn't know better, she'd think he was making excuses to prolong the conversation. This territory was unexplained and his attitude was very much freaking her out. He could be soft, yeah, but towards her? She couldn't be sure if she really wanted it or if she really wanted to push it away. "I should've been there. You're new to this and—I should've helped you, imagining all that really happening is—"

"Jackson," she said finally, and put some distance between them. He stepped back, his expression clearing, as if previously he'd been dreaming and now he'd snapped back to reality. "Listen. It's fine. I know. I'm starting to understand how this works now. Each man for his own. Each woman for her own. I get it. I dealt with it. I'm not going to kill you because you didn't come and get me out of that situation. That was my problem."

"We're _married_ , Annabeth," he said heatedly, with much more intensity than she could have expected—not that she expected any intensity at all. Yeah, they were married. He hadn't forgotten that it was all a ruse, right? Noting the expression on her face, he hastily added, "I don't mean it like that _Chase_ , you should know I don't. Your business is mine, and my business is yours and it's not me who chose this, it's our goddamned _parents_." He was taking this much more seriously than she had anticipated—not that she'd expected him to care at all? "So if I get you fucked, I'm in trouble. If you get me fucked, _you're_ in trouble. I couldn't do anything to help you—"

"I think we need to establish some boundaries here," she said coldly. "I thought we'd agreed. If I were to die, you're off the hook! If you were to die, I'm off the hook! So why do you _care_ so much—"

"For _fuck's_ _sake_ , Annabeth," and the shock of hearing him use her first name silenced her. He was serious. "You want to get out of a marriage at the expense of a person's death?! Do you want me to put it bluntly and say it _that_ way?"

That made her quiet. She took one step back, and then another step back, and then tightly squeezed her eyes together. Her towel still hung limply in his hands.

"I'm tired." She said finally, her voice simple. "I want to rest." His eyes were hard as he mockingly gestured towards his bed, and with a cold, cold glare at him, she claimed his bed.

"And where will you be sleeping?" She asked stonily, and he shot back with, "Next to you, _on my bed,"_ so cruelly and bitterly that she immediately went quiet. Fine. So be it. This was how they were normally were. She turned on her side, facing away from him as he climbed into bed next to her and turned facing away from her as well. If that was how he wanted to be, stubborn and childish and unwilling to realize that it didn't matter, then it wasn't her problem. She was not _wrong_.

She didn't care. She was pretty freaking tired, and she'd be damned if she had to deal with him right now. She'd deal with him later in the morning. This was how they normally were with eachother. Hateful. Just because Annabeth had gone through something possibly traumatizing that admittedly, held alot of weight in her chest right now, weighing down like a boulder, shouldn't have changed things between them. It wasn't as if they were _actually_ married. They weren't even _friends_. Honestly, he was being childish.

That did not change the fact that the air between them had shifted, and both of them felt it.


	17. Congratulations! I'm Your Tattoo Artist!

**full summary** :: Annabeth Chase, who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship, but opposites attract. Love is unthinkable, but lust is well underway. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe death will win them over first.

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 **0 1 7**

 **CONGRATULATIONS! I'M YOUR TATTOO ARTIST!**  
 **[** unedited **]**  
 **[** 08.20.18 **]**  
 **[** 6,189 words **]**

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 **IT WAS VERY POSSIBLE THAT** Percy had completely lost his mind over something simple and meaningless in the morning. It was also very possible that he'd chosen the wrong time and the (infinitely) wrong person to broach that subject with. Annabeth was the most stubborn lump of rock he had ever encountered in his lifetime. But she hadn't _been_ there. She hadn't been standing next to him and watching from the security cameras how it looked to him as they injected the purple liquid into her veins and how she spasmed, serene expression ruined by something horrifying and mutilated. Both he and Piper had found it suspicious that Dionysus wouldn't disclose information about how Annabeth was to be initiated, because matters of the initiation were always simple. You cut a line into your hand. You spilt your blood on paper. You signed with your blood. You swore yourself in. You . . were branded. And then you were done.

For him, it had been a different experience, and for Annabeth, it was nearly as worse. The horrible feeling that had crept through his veins as it made its way through his bloodstream and all around his body made it hard for him to breathe as he watched her. It was watching the mental ruination of a person in itself. She had killed somebody. Her second kill, she could call it. And—he'd killed countless people over the years, but watching Annabeth kill people hit him somewhere in the chest so hard he wanted to snatch her up and run.

It didn't have to mean that he particularly _cared_ for her. It was just that—his thoughts immediately shut off here. No, he didn't care for her. He didn't need to think about that too. He didn't even know what to think about when it came to that, really. He was being stupid and acting weirdly irrational about the entire thing; she'd admitted it to herself : that it was her problem. And even though they shared the same problems, Percy got the faint idea that he was still overreacting. Or maybe he wasn't, and Annabeth had gotten him to _think_ he was overreacting. Annabeth was so stubborn it was very, very easy to convince anyone that she was right and they were wrong. She could call a squirrel a beaver and be so stubborn about it that she'd make someone believe it (but she'd never do that because she was Annabeth and she never confused herself between two simple things).

When he woke up, Annabeth was already gone and the balcony doors were wide, wide open. The spot next to him was warm but that could have been because it was getting hot outside. He groggily sat up, and seeing there was no sign of Annabeth at the balcony too, he figured she was already downstairs, having breakfast with the others. Hell, he probably didn't even have to introduce her to them—either Piper had already done it or she'd taken care of it herself. He shuffled to the bathroom, thankful his breath didn't smell too horrible, brushed his teeth, and made his way downstairs. He narrowly missed stepping on a large granite rock and the dangerous heel of one of Piper or Hazel's heels but instead stepped on one of Leo's nails.

It hurt like a motherfucker, and so early in the morning too. He closed his eyes and lifted his foot and screamed. " _VALDEZ_ , YOU SICK _BASTARD_ ," and the commotion downstairs went quiet for a second before Leo screamed back, "MORNING, JACKSON, HOW YA DOIN," before thumping up the stairs with a cup of coffee in his hand and a gleeful expression on his face. "Jackson," he whispered. "Is that your new girlfriend? Man, is she _hot."_ This statement did nothing to diffuse Percy's steadily rising rage levels though he did not deny it. Leo definitely did not have to say that though. When Percy did not answer, he noted down Percy's murderous expression and his foot hoisted up to show the nail. Leo ran back down the stairs without another word.

 _Girlfriend_? What was he supposed to tell them? He'd honestly hoped that Piper had it covered. Shaking his foot, he limped down the stairs, already in a bad mood. He limped to the kitchen and stared, unsurprised. Jason had pancake batter on his face. Piper had a rolling pin raised threateningly towards him, and they were bickering thoroughly—he was glad they'd resolved their jealousy issues and whatnot. Or perhaps they were resolving them right now. Hazel was reading a very, very thick book next to her bowl of cereal, and Leo was hiding behind her while simultaneously trying to peek at what she was reading. He kept barraging her with questions, Hazel answered with one-word answers, and Frank was glaring at him for bothering his best friend, but did nothing about it because Hazel could take care of it herself when she got annoyed. As in, _really_ take care of it herself. And Annabeth sat at the head of the table, her eyes on a laptop in front of her—it looked alot like his—some pancake batter on her face because Jason was quite close to her, and looking very much unbothered with the commotion around her.

She was eating oatmeal. A peculiar sense of satisfaction and happiness flared up inside him as he saw Annabeth amongst his friends, two worlds colliding and no problem rising. It made him feel content, how Annabeth was surrounded by his lunatic friends but didn't seem bothered at all.

"You're all so loud," he complained brattily and barely any of them looked up to acknowledge him, except Jason, who mentally asked him to help him with his eyes as Piper circled him with the rolling pin, and Leo, who ducked away from him. Annabeth's eyes flickered up with recognition and then flickered down. He recognized the look on her face, which was _don't bother me i'm busy_. "Piper, stop threatening Jason with the rolling pin. Jason, go wash your face, man, you look—really Annabeth? Oatmeal? You're so plain," and he was _horrified_ to find that the sensation inside him was relief when Annabeth rolled her eyes at him typically, scowling. "You've all met Annabeth, Queen Prissiness Galore? Annabeth's met all you lunatics?" Leo gave him the finger. Hazel glared at him. Was _she_ on her side already? Her gaze chastised him, saying _Be nice, Percy_. Hazel liked to mom everyone.

"The only lunatic here is you, Jackson," Annabeth retorted, and at Percy's expression, cracked a small smile. Leo _ooh_ 'ed like the jerkass he was. How much had he missed exactly? What time was it?

"We've all been up for hours, Percy, it's one in the afternoon," No one seemed to consider that despite it being 1, everyone was eating breakfast. If they'd been up for hours, why were they eating now? Piper, being the goddess she was, raised the rolling pin high at Jason one last time, who flinched, before putting it down and turning to face him. Jason's face sagged in relief. It took great pains not to crack up at the pancake batter that graced her face, and she glared at him. "Everyone's met Annabeth. Annabeth's met us. We like her more than you already." Annabeth studiously avoided looking at Piper's face, and Piper did the same.

"Yeah," Hazel said, her voice soft and delicate. "We're ditching you; Annabeth's so much better." Piper and Annabeth had a different history, but Hazel? Innocent, innocent _Hazel_?

"Hazel," he said dramatically. "I expected that from Piper, but from you?" He looked directly at Annabeth, mockingly placing a hand over his heart. "You've ruined her innocence. I can't allow you to do this."

"Valdez here ruined Hazel's innocence long before Annabeth came around," Frank hit the back of Leo's head and gave Leo a murderous look, and Leo scurried to hide behind Piper, who gave him a tired look but didn't brush him off. Jason snickered but his eyes were on Leo's hands, which were on Piper's shoulders. Annabeth watched all of this with amusement.

"Speaking of Annabeth," Jason finally spoke, blonde hair damp on his head, blue eyes glittering. Percy became aware that the table had gone quiet and everyone's eyes were on him. "What's this we heard about you guys getting _married_?" Leo opened his mouth to make a crude joke, Percy could see it in his face, so he picked up the knife that Frank had used to smear cream cheese over his bagel and pointed it at Leo.

Leo promptly shut his mouth. Piper shrugged at him; it wasn't her that had told them. Annabeth's eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes flickering to his. She hadn't spilled anything either. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, before walking towards Annabeth and pouring himself a glass of orange juice, studiously watching the screen of his laptop over his shoulder, lines of neatly typed information blurring. He cleared his throat before taking a drink. "You guys heard about that?" Frank studies him with his deeply set eyes, and even Hazel watches him, book laying unread on the table, abandoned by Hazel. Piper stares resolutely at the wall, Jason watches him curiously, and Leo admires Annabeth with his eyes, until Annabeth pulls a death glare on him and he backs away sheepishly.

They're all so stupid and endearing and he loves them, but that doesn't mean that they're not dangerous. Even Leo, who can hack into any computer system in the world and knows how to play mean with a knife. They are some of the most dangerous young adults in the entirety of the Sicilian Mafia faction, and nearly more than seventy-five dead bodies can account for that. "Dionysus told us that we were having another initiate join the Argo." His eyes flicker to Annabeth, who's fingers have stilled on his laptop's keyboard, leaning back into her chair with a predatory ease. "He also told us that the initiate was also your _wife_." The word sounds unnatural and garbled on his tongue, and Percy can understand the alien feeling of the word on his tongue—none of them, least of all Percy, are ready to settle down, nor do they plan to. There are way too many complexities in their situations for that. "He didn't give us any more details." His eyes flicker between the both of them passively. "I'm guessing it's not a love marriage then?"

A tense moment of silence passed, where Percy wondered if he should come out with the truth or lie about it, but then Annabeth snorted with a type of smoothness that let Percy know that she was taking the situation from Percy (but wasn't really happy about it.) "As if Perseus Jackson could ever settle down." But they were his _friends_ , he could trust them. But . . this was also the Mafia. It wasn't a game. Anyone could betray anyone, though he could never believe that his team could ever betray him. "It's not a love marriage, but it's still a marriage, so that's what matters. And—" Her eyes narrowed. "This information stays within these walls at all costs." She went back to her laptop without pretense.

"But, like—" Leo eyed them boyishly. "What happens if the others know? It wouldn't be bad, would it? No one's going to want to believe that Percy goes to NY for a couple of weeks, falls in love, and settles down just like that?"

"Nobody _has_ to believe it." Annabeth says firmly. "The only thing that matters is that not a single word of this escapes this kitchen, so it'll leave them wondering—Jackson and I will act it out. No one marries for love in the _Mafia,_ and everyone knows that, but it's honestly none of their business. It should be normal for them. They don't even need to know that we're married, but if they see us together, they'll get the impression that we're close." Percy shrugs as their attention switches to him. At this point, what Annabeth says are what his thoughts mirror (sometimes).

"She's not wrong," he downs his glass of orange juice and wipes his mouth with his hand. "Anyway, it's not like we have much of a choice. If the Titans know that the heir to the Athenian Owl Industries joined us—" He smirked darkly. "Well, we're fucked, aren't we?" Hazel chastised him with a glare, but the rest were quiet. A moment of silence passed. Piper and Jason exchanged hesitant looks, Hazel leaned back into Frank and watched them carefully, while Leo fixed his eyes on Hazel, longing in his gaze. Percy felt a pang of sadness on Leo's behalf. He was all alone now. Piper and Jason had been building up sexual tension for so long and did nothing about it. Frank and Hazel had been best friends ever since they joined, but denied it was anything more than that, even when it was. Leo had a crush on Hazel and joked about it casually, but his loneliness clouded around him like an aura. Even Percy had Annabeth, even if they didn't necessarily like eachother.

"Anyway," he says, determinedly putting his glass of orange juice down on the table, "I'm taking Annabeth to get crowned." A grim silence descends over the table as everyone squirms lightly before their eyes fly to Annabeth with pity. It's honestly too late to tell them than Annabeth would rather die than be looked with pity. "And then we get our first mission." He mirthlessly mimes holding a gun up his mouth, and this time, not even Hazel scowls at him. The aura around them is now depressing, but they smirk at him—the way they're supposed to. Merciless and ruthless and heartless—that is what they are all supposed to be, and what they are, and only his group can see eachother for what they _truly_ are.

* * *

 **"CROWNING?" ANNABETH ASKS HIM** as he drives, and he smiles remorselessly, looking ahead instead of at her. They spent nearly fifteen minutes arguing on who got to drive _("You're not my fucking chauffeur, I haven't been behind the wheel for ages, is it too much to ask for to want to drive myself for once?" "Sure, Chase, sure you can drive, but do you know where the hell you're going to drive_ to _? I thought you were sensible!" "Shut_ up _.")_ so they're running behind on schedule.

He avoids her question. "Where'd you get the new clothes from?" He's mostly given her simple clothes when they were out of the house (but back in NY, she wore pretty simple stuff when she had an entire walk-in closet, so) and today she's wearing sneakers, jeans, and a grey t-shirt. He's seen her on many tablets being appreciated for her taste in fashion, so he guesses either she has a simple taste or she doesn't really care anymore. It's not like she isn't pulling it off, though . . . she looks stunning, grey eyes defiant as ever, princess curls held up in a perfect bun on her head. Whatever she wears, she'll always be undeniably gorgeous (but not as gorgeous as him).

"Piper gave it to me." Her voice is more stiff and tense when he brings up Piper, and honestly, he'd really like to know what happened between them. Piper is cruel and nearly sadistic, and Annabeth, if possible, is more brutal, or nearly as brutal—he'd have thought they'd either be best friends or best enemies, but it seemed more like Annabeth hated her and she avoided her. Not best friends, and not enemies. Piper threatened to gorge his eyes out with the fork she was using to eat her jello when he asked her the night before. They were both perfectly fit to be best friends. "So, what's crowning and why does it make everyone depressed?"

He remembers the fight from this morning, and it seems that so does she, because the atmosphere is clouded with thin, straining tension now that they're alone, and while he's been told Annabeth isn't the type of person who squirms in such uncomfortable situations, she looks uneasy now, not even looking at him at all. Her lips are pressed together thoughtfully, and her eyes are a mixture between hesitant and defiant—it isn't a look he'd ever dream she'd have when he first met her, but it's a look he's getting used to. This marriage is bringing out different parts to both of them. Percy didn't even know he was capable of feeling guilt, and when the feeling hit him headfirst as he watched Blondie stamp on her humanity, he almost didn't recognize it.

"Before we get to that," he almost chokes on his words. He's not going to apologize, the word ' _sorry_ ' isn't in his vocabulary (and he doesn't have much reason to apologize anyway, _he_ didn't say anything wrong), "about what happened this morning—"

"Yeah, about that," and her voice is so much like whiplash that he almost loses his grip on the steering wheel trying to steal a glance from her. Her gaze has turned determinedly to the window, her slim shoulders bunching up together in discomfort. He doesn't even _care_. This is a subject he's going to broach. If he goes too far and she's a lost cause, he'll put it down and see how much she likes not having someone to watch her back, but until then, he's going to bulldoze this topic. They don't have to like eachother, they just have to watch out for eachother. "I thought it through, and you're not wrong."

There is a single, heartrending moment where Percy's hands still on the steering wheel, and he has absolutely no control on the car as he struggles to understand what this damned woman is implying. "What?" _You're not wrong_.

Admitting to not being right wasn't part of Annabeth's vocabulary, and he watched as Annabeth looked anywhere but at him, fingers drumming on the armrest. "I said you're not wrong. I'm not repeating it again." Her voice is steel. Annabeth is too stubborn to be admitting to such a thing.

"Which part am I not wrong about?" Despite his best efforts (which means he didn't put an ounce of effort in it at all), his voice is unbelievably smug, but when Annabeth turns her glare on him, it immediately drops. "Which part am I not wrong about, my dearest wife?"

"Cut it, airhead," she hisses, her full attention on him now, grey eyes digging holes in the side of his head. "Weren't _you_ just about to apologize?" He sneers at her, the straining tension now threading together. "Don't even try to deny it. I know that voice."

"Apologizing isn't part of my vocabulary," he shoots back. "Are you a seer, Chase? Can you see into the future?" His voice is mocking. " _Weren't you just about to apologize?_ "

"You know why kids mock their siblings?" Her voice is a dangerous haze, and he realizes that he's sort of, kind of acting like a child now. "Because they have nothing better to say, Jackson. You're a child. You're mocking me because _you have nothing better to say_."

"I wasn't going to apologize. I don't apologize to people," he repeats, and she laughs snarkily.

"You say it like being arrogant is a thing to be proud of, you prick." She coughs loudly over his attempts to answer her. "Anyway, you're twisting the topic around. I'm not apologizing. I'm saying that you aren't entirely wrong." When he opens his mouth again, she snaps, "So shut up before I change my mind and give you a hard time just because I can." He shuts his mouth. If there is one person in the world that knows how to give him a hard time, it's Annabeth Chase. He'd be better off not taking her up on the offer. "I realize that since we are married to eachother," her voice is slow, ulterior anger fading away into seriousness, and at her sharper, more alert tone, he drops his childishness too. "I do have a right over you and you have a right over me, and even though it's a fake marriage, it's still going to last until the bullshit our parents are pulling on us is done. Which is going to take a long time. And in that time, I'm probably going to almost die a bunch of times. So it wouldn't hurt to have someone watch my back. And if you die on my watch, it's going to be guilt on my conscience, even though you're a dipshit. So I acted a little bit irrationally this morning."

The streets are paved smoothly and neatly, and they slowly come to a stop at the traffic lights. In the momentary break from driving, Percy turns his gaze to Annabeth, forming an answer. The smooth, chiseled edges of her high cheekbones give her face a carved beauty, her blonde lashes long and alluring in the morning light. Her eyes, turned towards the window, have an almost holy light in them, defiance and an almost-confused emotion dancing in them. Her nose is a graceful slope, her lips full and enchanting, and the graceful image of her in the sunlight is such a heavenly gift that he has to blink to make sure he's seeing her right. He wants to snap out the elastic band holding her hair together and run his hair through the princess curls, and touch the nape of her neck and see what it makes her feel.

She's always been pretty, but he never knew she was so damningly beautiful. Looking at her in this light, her silhouette makes something strange slither in the depths of his chest, something that makes his forehead wrinkle. Her silhouette cuts a beautiful figure, but there is something strangely lonely about it. She is independent, unused to being cared about or caring about anyone or anything. Her life is her work and nothing but. She defends herself, and only herself. She doesn't know her biological mother, he's been told. Her father sold her away like how his father sold him away. He is an object, and so is she. No wonder she's so unwilling and strange about the idea of having someone watch her back or even remotely care about her, and no wonder Percy is so keen about it.

His mother has always told him, that despite his exterior, he's too soft for his own good.

It isn't sympathy or pity that rises up in his chest, he knows that. He'd be lying in the trunk of the car, dead, if it was. It's something as euphoric and heavenly as the fine image that Annabeth cuts. It's something he has never felt and has never deigned to feel. He's seen beautiful women and he's seen naked women, and even though Annabeth isn't the most beautiful woman in the world, even though he's seen prettier women, sexier women, she's all he can see right now. All he knows is the urge to hold Annabeth's chin and draw her face towards his and memorize every last feature, every last flaw and curve in her face. For a moment, he even feels the urge, the need, the _want_ to meet her soft lips with his own. He remembers the scent of her hair, of her, as he slept against her, something that vaguely radiates _Annabeth_ and he wants to smell it and taste it and feel it. The world blurs around him.

It's only when a loud _HONK_! and Annabeth's startling gaze lands on him with confusion that he finally snaps out of his stupor and drives, wondering what the hell is wrong with him. It's strange. First, it almost feels like he cares about whether she dies or not, but that's only because he has to. His father would kill him if Annabeth died on his watch, otherwise, he would have murdered her weeks ago (if she hadn't gotten to him first). Second, now he's taken to thinking of Annabeth as _beautiful_ and _heavenly_ now? Those words aren't even part of his vocabulary, what the _fuck_? He's slept with many women, and made out with even more, it was a passtime—and suddenly—? What was so different about her?

He faked a choke. "Are you calling _me_ a _dipshit_?" He avoids her gaze completely, even though it's her who's staring at him resolutely now, forehead slightly creased. He wants to smoothen out the crease. "Anyway, it's not because I actually care. If one of us is harmed, it pits one company against the other, and the main reason behind this is the alliance between two companies who have been feuding for years and are stopping eachother from becoming more successful." He swallowed, strangely fearful that if he looked at her again, the feeling that had stirred his chest with warmth and desire would come back even stronger. "So it's best if we look out for eachother, like we were _meant_ to in the first place, if _someone_ didn't _object for no reason_." He glares at her, trying to fake normality, and evidently, this is enough proof for Annabeth, so she finally turns away, rolling her eyes in such a natural way, his soul feels the relief.

"Of course it isn't. As if anyone could ever care for you. _Especially_ me." He scowls at her. "I just thought I'd be going my way and you'd be going on yours and we'd only see eachother if we had to. It's strange to think that we're supposed to be watching eachother's backs, like we're fighting together or something. Like this is a battlefield." Her voice is odd, and even though he doesn't say it out loud, he knows they're both thinking it. This is a battlefield. They just don't know what kind it is yet.

"And you made such a big deal out of nothing," he murmurs, sensing that they were nearing the tattoo parlor. But even as they get out, Percy can't shake the unease he feels when he looks at her. It unsteadies him, and he can't help but feel like he's only trying to convince himself that he doesn't care. But why? Why should he care about the woman who claims the title of his 'wife' with princess curls and flaming grey eyes who, coincidentally, would really like to kill him? What's so special about her?

* * *

 **"CONGRATULATIONS! I'M YOUR TATTOO ARTIST!** Don't you feel honored, Chase?"

They say it's a tattoo displaying your loyalty to the Mafia, but it was really just a brand. It was the Mafia owning you completely. Through the clipped words Percy throws at her, as he falls into the leather chair next to hers with a practiced languidness in a room at the back of the store, she can understand that much. Even as he leans his leg on it as he assembles the tools he's going to use—yeah, he's her tattoo artist, _hurrah_ —his eyes are on her, his movements smooth. His hands are going to be on her. On her _skin_. She doesn't allow herself to blush. It's not as if she's going to feel anything. It's not like it's going to matter. Just some skin on skin contact, period.

Annabeth doesn't have a picture of what she's going to get carved on her neck. She's definitely not going to let Jackson draw permanent patterns on her throat. But even as she thinks it, she thinks back to the flashes of an intricate pattern she's seen on Percy, near his shoulders or on the upper portion of his chest, perhaps even on his neck. She's never seen the entire picture, but has caught only hints of it. Sometimes, she can see parts of it, and sometimes, she can't see anything at all, even when his neck and throat are on full display. As Percy arranges his kit noisily, with the intent to annoy her, Annabeth levels her gaze at him.

"Show me it." Bastard wouldn't even tell her what _Crowning_ meant, and no wonder either, but she had a right to know if she was going to get branded like this. His eyes narrow silently. From the moment he'd entered the shop, a man had gestured him to the back of the shop, and he'd made no comment on it, which meant that they recognized him indefinitely, and knew why he was here. He slowly draws the top of his shirt down, and rubs vigorously at a joining point between his chest and his shoulder joint, until slowly, a mark begins to appear.

It's . . . a shattered wine bottle with blood pouring out of it. Her nose twitches at the crude image, but surprisingly, that's not what takes her aback. It's that his brand is more near his shoulder, while she had thought it to be imprinted on his throat. Whatever he says, she's sure she's seen something on his throat too. He has more than one tattoo, and he hides both the brand and the one on his throat. She gives him a meaningful look as the he viciously draws the sleeve of her shirt down just enough to bare the joint between her chest and her shoulders. His eyes turn hooded as he eyes her bare skin, pushing the metal tip of the tattoo machine against her skin.

"It's not going to hurt," he speaks suavely, before thinking about it again, and his gaze on her feels like a cool lathe. "Actually, it is going to hurt. But it's like a pinprick."

"Did I ask you?" She asks wryly, and out of the corner of her eye, notices as the tattoo artist's eyebrows rise and her painted red lips curl in amusement. The woman is there to oversee the design and make sure nothing goes wrong. Apparently, they take precautions for her too, even though Percy begins to move against her skin with a practiced ease. She raises an eyebrow of her own, and the woman nods and leaves them by themselves, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Percy settles back into the chair, not eyeing her, but instead, eyeing her shoulder with an intensity that is so focused it seems almost forced. She holds out her bare arm to him and holds still as his eyes move with the machine gun, the forcefulness slowly but surely fading into concentration. She is laying propped on a leather chair, and he's leaning close to her, so close that she can feel his cool breath against her skin. At this close range, she can't help but observe him, observe the finely made features of his face, because it's right there and such an artistic masterpiece can not be ignored—his full pink lips are pressed together in concentration, one of the first things her traitorous gaze draws her towards, the strong curve of his nose, his sculpted cheekbones, the handsome structure of his face, his Mediterranean complexion, the green of his eyes—she wants to run her fingers through his jet black hair, caress the soft skin underneath his eyes and match her eyes to his, run her palms against the chipped surface of his jaw.

He isn't bad looking. He isn't bad looking at all. He's so enchanting it takes her breath away.

She blows out a breath as his hands briefly flutter against her skin, as he leans closer, so close that his lips and his face are barely a few inches away from her face, as the metal machine draws the patterns against her skin and as his touch flutters at the tips of her skin, enough to make her frightfully aware of his proximity to her. He uses his other hand to steady her, closing it over the knob of her shoulder and straining it so he can move the machine and ink her properly. He blinks once, slowly, his dark, dark lashes fluttering in an enchanting rhythm, a rhythm that has captured her gaze enough so that she can barely tear her eyes away from his face anymore. His skin against hers, his palm against hers, it all sends a particularly spiteful fire racing up and down her spine and licking fiercely in her insides, a fire that is called warmth and desire and—

"Are you enjoying the view?" He asks, a smirk pulling at the sides of his lips, but his eyes are just as drawn and shadowed as hers are, as she is feeling, filled with a flicker of the fire that races like wildfire in her insides. Of course he's doing this on purpose, he's so adamantly arrogant of his good looks and his so called charm, and Annabeth feels a thrill of humiliation for momentarily getting caught into his web of prey—even if it is momentary, it still happened, and that can not be changed. He's still so pretty that he is an illusion, such a fine piece of work that he can easily take her breath away—but only hunger can replace it as she takes careful note of the expression on his face as he eyes her, eyes narrowed and obscure, gazing at her eyelashes and her eyes, drawing down to her nose, and then finally, looking intensely at her lips, licking his own in the process. The machine gun continues to move against her skin, even as his palms get warmer and warmer, as does the atmosphere between them. He only has eyes for her lips, she can see. He only has eyes for her and for her lips, and she only has eyes for the carved perfection that is his face, illuminating and enchanting as it is. He draws closer to her, eyes furrowed and curious and hooded—and it is just as the tablets flash across her mind's eye, at scandals after scandals after scandals, girl per girl per girl, all thrown away like toys that pain erupts against the place the ink machine is situated at.

The pain is such an urgent pull from the haze that has enveloped her that she immediately yelps and strains away from the machine, alarm bells blaring inside her mind. Percy jumps away from her and drops the machine gun in the tray, his breathing labored and eyes unfocused as he takes in the reddened spot where her new tattoo is now.

"It's done," he says loudly, his voice a loud thud and return back to reality and the situation at hand, and he steps away from her without a single word, his steps jittery and slightly shaking, as he calls out for the other tattoo artist to take a look at his work. And as the woman inspects her new tattoo with cold hands, Annabeth slowly breathes in and breathes out, still able to see his face in her mind's view.

She isn't sure if she's relieved or disappointed. Perhaps she's both.

But she knows she prefers to be relieved. It's better for her and it's better for him.

* * *

 **[a/n:]** _well, it's been one hell of a while since i updated, but i promise you that it wasn't just heavy procrastination this time. with school ending two months ago came a burden of emotional what-do-you-call-its and honestly, i didn't have the inspiration or motivation to write or think up anything at all. this chapter was finished only because i stayed up till 4 am last night and finally let the inspiration flow come. safe to say, i have chapter 18 planned out, and you will get you fair share of percabeth, without a doubt. what did you guys think about this chapter? feel free to point out any flaws, and tell me if you have any questions or doubts! i'd be happy to answer them._


	18. Dumb Girl, Wise Girl

**full summary** :: Annabeth Chase, who works underneath the tight-lipped rule of her father in the Athenian Owl Industries, is engaged to Percy Jackson, heir to Poseidon's Trident Industries, and notorious member of the Los Angelos Mafia, high in their ranks. There's no love in their relationship, but opposites attract. Love is unthinkable, but lust is well underway. But before long, both Annabeth's and Percy's pasts catch up to them. Mysteries are uncovered, ties are severed, and maybe, just maybe, love can set into the equation. Or maybe death will win them over first.

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 **0 1 8**

 **DUMB GIRL, WISE GIRL  
[ **unedited **]**  
 **[** 08.24.18 **]**  
 **[ 9,160** words **]**

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 **PIPER MCLEAN IS HONESTLY** a very beautiful girl, and she herself knows it, her eyelashes fluttering in tandem and fake concentration, with the knowledge that she is being watched and that she is being admired. Her large, kaleidoscope eyes are a myriad of colors, ranging from green to blue to brown to almost black and then again, so much so, that it's almost hard to decipher the storm brewing in them. It's not an actual kaleidoscope, but the milky brightness in them range and deceive. Anyone would look at them and only notice the captive beauty in the ever-changing colors, but once, there was a time that Annabeth came to know them so well, they became a counterpart of herself. She came to know them so well, that the beauty of them came only second to the emotions brewing beneath them.

Annabeth hoped that Piper had found someone else to notice the reality of the thunderstorm brewing beneath them instead of just the beauty. Piper does not deserve such hope from Annabeth and she knows it, but Annabeth can't help it. Once, she used to love this girl whole-heartedly, at a time where she could not say that she loved anyone else. Once, she had a reason to love this beautiful girl, who could lie as beautifully as she looked.

Her shorn hair is uneven and choppy, but still smooth, and Annabeth felt them flutter across her skin, sending her back to a time where she could smile quietly as Piper bent, concentrated, over painting her nails, even when Annabeth repeatedly told her that she would wipe them off as soon as she was done (but she never did because it was Piper who painted her nails and it made her too happy, and Piper knew that). If Annabeth were to run her fingers through Piper's hair, like she once had, she knew that she would feel a faint stirring in her chest, a fraction of the admiration she used to feel for the girl she once called her best friend.

A girl she had thought to be dead.

All of the Argo team members were skilled in healing and first-aid, but it was only Hazel who had looked into it further and helped to fully heal wounds properly. So it was Hazel's job to dab at the wound Percy gave her ( _God_ , if she touches it, she swears she can feel her skin sizzle under her touch; _he_ had been the one to decide that he wanted to tattoo Annabeth, after all, he deserved to be screamed at, it's not her fault he got distracted) but it's Piper who sits with Annabeth between her legs, her lithe legs encircling Annabeth's hips and her long fingers dabbing at the tattoo with an alcohol swab, one hand holding the knob of her shoulder steady, similar to how Percy had been touching her an hour ago—they were two different people and they both gave her two different feelings. With Percy, there was heat and a distinct feeling of want and desire, and with Piper, it was mostly animosity and thinly veiled hatred with the slight feeling of _home_.

Once, Piper used to be Annabeth's home, and she _really wants to stop thinking about what Piper used to be to her,_ because it was just going to make things worse. They both touched her intimately. Percy's touch had been like fire, and Piper's touch is cool, the touch of endearing intimacy. Annabeth doesn't like how intimate the action of how Piper is encircling her hips with her legs, but she _likes_ it. She remembered how Piper used to do that too. She remembered how Piper broke her heart too. She hadn't forgotten anything, even nearly five years later.

But anyway, Piper had convinced Hazel to let her handle it, and Hazel had walked away quietly, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. Annabeth liked Hazel, but hadn't particularly figured her out. She and Frank were both closed off, dealing with things together or by themselves, it seemed to her. They were quiet. Annabeth liked Hazel, so she'd take the opportunity to get to know her. And Annabeth could not say the same for a great many people. As her soft fingers brush against the unconcealed skin, Piper's gaze flickers up to meet her own gaze, and she doesn't look away, determined and unyielding, wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Once, Annabeth's gaze had made Piper curious, and soon after, the intent and color of Annabeth's eyes had brought her comfort, while it brought many people scrutiny and discomfort. She'd read the words in Piper's own handwriting.

She remembers falling to her knees, her heart thudding still, just a few days ago, at seeing a face she had once revered, and seeing a face she had thought to be dead. She remembers the jolting surprise and then concern and slight anxiety on Percy's face. She remembers a great many things about Piper and what she had done to her, both the good and the bad. "You know looking at me like that isn't going to make me uncomfortable. It never did." Her eyes flicker to and from her face. "It never worked on me." Her voice is soothing and feminine, and Annabeth remembered how she used to love singing and used to force Annabeth to watch her and listen to her—she could make anyone fall asleep with her soft lullaby, because she had a beautiful voice. On more than one occasion, Annabeth had recorded her songs, and when stress overwhelmed her and drowned her, she used to put them on and go to sleep, a fact she had never told Piper. She used to love hearing Piper talking. _I used to, I used to, I used to._

 _I used to fucking_ love _Piper Mclean, when I could never love anyone else._

"Doesn't hurt to try, does it?" She snarls, her face contorting to something beastly, and Piper finally puts down the alcohol swab and neatly bandages the burn, tightening her legs, which are caging Annabeth, before finally raising her face to meet Annabeth's gaze head-on, eyes moving between the crevices of her face with unmasked sadness, a type of grimness that went beyond her years.

"Damn," she said softly. "You're more prettier than you used to be. You're pretty damning beautiful, Beth." Her fingers rise from the bandage, drawing her shirt over her shoulder, before settling at Annabeth's collarbone, and even when Annabeth flinches away from her touch and gives Piper a harsh look, Piper doesn't move away. Piper never tried to break down her walls. She used to fucking _bulldoze_ them, because Annabeth's walls were too thick to be broken just like that. It would take momentous effort from someone to break them down, and Piper had. When Annabeth had never needed anyone, she had needed someone. She didn't push everyone away for no reason, after all. There was once a time she used to trust and love, but that time was gone. Take Luke Castellan, for example, now her ex-boyfriend (speaking of which, she hadn't heard from him for a very, very long time). He was her boyfriend, and she could say that she liked him and found him wanting to a certain extent. But she could never love him, and this thought came to her with such clarity at the moment. She had screwed him and she had been with him, but she had never loved him like _that_ , and whether she ever could was a thing she could never find out. She had been with him and many other guys, but never had loved any of them, but the closest she had come to loving was Luke, because she'd known him for as long as she'd known Thalia, the three of them being childhood friends.

She had loved Thalia too, of course. Piper and Thalia, and somewhat Luke. Piper had been there all the time. Thalia was a mess and had been there part time, more or less assuming the role of her defensive bodyguard. Somehow, she'd helped her prepare for the "wedding" too. Luke was just there, growing from close childhood friend to acquaintance to hot jock to crush to boyfriend and then dissolving into pieces. She cared about him, but didn't necessarily love him. Loving someone was so much more complicated than just caring about them.

"I don't see how that has to do with anything." Her voice is resolute and stone-still. She gestures formally towards her legs, knowing that her distance would once have made Piper very, very angry and irritated with her. "Do you mind letting go of me now?"

"The thing is, I do mind letting go of you." Her voice is cool, but desperation coats her expression, the movement of her eyes and the pursing of her lips as she watches Annabeth with fascination telling her it. "Now that you're—" She pauses. "—I mean, now that we're—"

"There is no _we_ , Mclean. What, you want me to thank you for cleaning up my tat? Yeah, thanks. Can I go now?" She interrupted her rudely without even caring about how she might have sounded. Once, Piper would have been absolutely volatile had anyone talked to her like that. Now, there was only grieving acceptance.

"I deserved that." She said slowly, fingers crawling towards the nape of Annabeth's neck and cupping her side. Annabeth had never been the touching type. She hated being touched. It made her skin crawl. But she let Percy touch her, and she touched him. She let Piper touch her, even if it was for just a moment. That made all the difference. If someone else had been touching her, they'd be on the floor with several broken bones by now. "But—I think we need to talk. I—I want to talk. With you." Piper never really stuttered, and neither did Annabeth, but she was stuttering now.

"We're talking right now, aren't we?" She asked venomously, before tightly closing her hands around the wrist of the hand Piper was touching her with. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter but more deadly. "I should break each of your fingers and your wrist for touching me without my permission. _You don't deserve to do that_. You don't get to touch me."

"I don't deserve to touch you," she whispered, her voice cracking, "but you're letting me touch you and you're not breaking any of my fingers, and you don't know how much it means to me." _I don't give a fuck._ Just as Annabeth was about to say exactly that, the door to their small little room burst open, and a red-faced Jason what-was-his-last-name eyed Annabeth violently, clad in black, looking as if he'd like to yell at her. Annabeth felt cold amusement slithering down her spine. It was the same blonde guy that had looked jealous when Leo had touched Piper's shoulders. The one that had been arguing with Piper about something about _boys_ so much that Piper had lifted a frying pan or something like that. Annabeth had done her best not to notice Piper until she'd cornered her with a first-aid kit.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to her like that." He eyed Annabeth thunderously, and Annabeth got the idea that he didn't get mad too often, though he certainly got irritated. He was the calm, collected type, the team leader, sort of like her. "I don't know who you are or anything, but have some respect." Too late, his eyes fell on Piper's legs around Annabeth's hips, at her hands on her neck, and he eyed them this time with confusion.

"Jason," Piper spoke with thinly concealed irritation. "Come back another time. I'm in the _middle_ of something." Her voice was infinitely cold, the musical notes like icicles, and Annabeth remembered how she could freeze anyone with her cold voice. "Besides," she eyed Jason imperiously. "I have too many _boy toys_. You don't want to hang around a _player_ like me, do you?"

"Pipes, I don't have the time for this," he spoke impatiently now, previous violence gone, instead being replaced with a mixture curiosity and impatience. "Dionysus is sending us to go check over something, and we're running outta time." His eyes flicker to Annabeth with curiosity. "Percy's looking for you, Annabeth. He's been waiting for a while." His eyes flicker back to Piper, lips pursing.

Piper gives him a deadly look, before slowly unwinding her legs from Annabeth's hips. She feels the absence of touch like the absence of light. She slowly dawdles up to Jason and stares at him in the face, deadpan, eye to eye, for a second, before strutting away imperiously. Jason gave her a half-apologetic smile and half-nonplussed smile. "Was I interrupting something? Sorry if I misunderstood."

Annabeth looked him dead in the eye, unsmiling. His eyebrows rose, before he offered her one last polite smile and walked after Piper, muttering something that sounded alot like a frustrated, " _Girls_ ," under his breath. Annabeth's jaw locked with anger, and it wasn't because of Jason.

 _I don't know why I let you touch me_ , she thought with vigorous fury. _I should have broken all ten of your fingers and both wrists and twisted your arms for good measure._ Maybe she'd break Percy's limbs and pretend he was Piper for the satisfaction of it, but that wouldn't be satisfying enough, because she needed to kill both Percy and Piper.

* * *

 **INSTEAD OF BREAKING PERCY'S LIMBS AND FACING** the problem head-on, Annabeth got side-tracked and instead focused on Percy's challenging career as a tattoo artist, after which something suddenly occurred to her.

"First of all," she said as she walked into the spacious office and perched on an empty chair, eyeing a carefully vacant Percy and as he leaned against the wall, and deciding not to bring up why he had messed up with her tattoo "you are a very competent tattoo artist. You should get into that and make it a career choice. You'd kill so many people and get so many missions done easily, if I didn't kill you now for messing it up." Percy snorted, but he still couldn't quite look her in the eye, or even control the relief that took hold of him like a disease that she was letting it slide so easily. Annabeth let it pass over. Bringing it up would make it awkward for her too.

"Hazel cleaned it up for you?" Her face twisted, and he watched with a raised eyebrow as a scowl wrinkled her face.

"No. Piper did." She looked away from him, voice stiff. "She patched me up." Her fingers drifted towards the area thoughtlessly, remembering the comforting warmth of Piper's fingers against her skin. It was the sort of intimacy you would allow from kin. It was the touch of a family member. _You're my best friend, Annabeth_ , the ghost of Piper whispered in her mind so many times when the mental wound was still fresh and painful. _I would never leave you. Even if I don't say it often, you know I love you._ "I had a thought," and she said this so abruptly, snapping it so she could distract herself from the two ghost girls that were infiltrating her mind, Percy almost jolted with surprise, "I remember Poseidon saying that we would slowly have to make appearances. Reality shows and interviews and stuff. We haven't even had a family dinner. It's been weeks since the wedding. Isn't it weird that he's been quiet for this long?"

He stared at her for a full second, and she looked back at him, searching his face for any particular answer or anything he was keeping from her. To be honest, he was keeping a lot from her and she from him. Come to think of it, she had only seen him as the arrogant, miscreant, playboy that was heir to Poseidon Industries, and was, coincidentally, also a badass who was skilled in killing and revered in the Mafia. She knew he liked blue pancakes. She knew he could be irrevocably soft sometimes and insanely annoying sometimes. She knew he was like a teddy bear that had a lot of blood on his hands and his touch could set her very being on fire were she to let it. She knew that she actually liked sleeping against him after the few days she'd just had to lay next to him, feeling his warmth, the slight of his hand crawling around her waist when he wasn't the least bit awake, even if he had to take a cold shower when he woke up (he hadn't told her, she'd figured it out for herself, and was a mix between amused and revolted). She had gotten slightly used to him and his presence but still didn't know who _he_ was in words. She didn't know what he liked.

. . . She didn't have to know what he liked, _excuse_ her. Only people who were actually making an effort would do that. There was no point in trying to make an effort or even wanting to . . . but for the first time, _why_ popped up in Annabeth's head. _Why_ didn't they try? Why _couldn't_ they try? Instead of bickering all the time, they could take this opportunity to become acquaintances or even friends and not have to live as bitter rivals all the time. They slept together, side by side, for God's sake, why was communicating like _civilized_ human beings a concept so alien to them? Was it just that they liked bickering with eachother?

"You, Chase," he paused for dramatic effect, gathering his thoughts together, "are _not_ wrong." Smoothly, he removed himself from his position against the well and settled loosely in the chair next to her. Annabeth propped her elbow on the armrest and her head on her palm and watched his languid movements, strands of hair falling in front of her face and at the side of her face, in front of her eyes. But before she could reach up to pin it properly in place, she felt the surface of his smooth fingertips against her face, tracing the tops of her cheekbones before curving back to pin the loose strands of her hair in place. Her cheeks flushed at the feeling of his velvet fingertips against her skin. She didn't even know she was capable of such a feeling. When every last strand had been pinned back in place behind her ear and she was simply watching him, lips parted, the emerald of his eyes finally met her gaze, steady, and he lurched back, as if someone had struck him, eyes widening in realization.

He turned away, coughing violently, cheeks and neck reddening before her very eyes, his hands smoothing back his hair and making it messier. She was beginning to understand that it was a habit when he was uneasy or anxious, so despite her best efforts, she felt the beginnings of a smirk tilting her lips. Her cheeks were red and something dangerous was taking form in her chest, something she wanted to push away and put somewhere else, preferably in a box so she could take it out and feel it some other time, but it was simply taking form and staying in place. It was a light feeling that had the pace of her heartbeat increasing, making it beat harder than it had before. When she lightly put her fingers against her wrist, her pulse was abnormally fast. She blew out a breath, feeling irritated that he could make her feel like this. She wasn't going to be another one of his conquests. He had probably done this on purpose and was simply acting it out. What, had he made it a challenge to see if he could conquer the all-mighty Annabeth Chase's heart?

But when he turned back to her, voice rough, it didn't seem like he was acting, but he was one of life's finest actors and she had only known him for a number of weeks, so she didn't trust the thought. "You should fix your hair." His voice turned snide. "We wouldn't want Ms. Perfect to be seen looking less than perfect, would we?"

She glowered at him as she took out the elastic band holding her hair together, feeling a cruel prick of sadistic satisfaction as Percy's eyes followed the movement thoughtlessly, body still as he watched her hair come loose, eyes narrowed. When she pulled her hair back together to form an effortlessly perfect ponytail, not caring to braid it, bun it, or style it in any way, he finally looked away, eyes shadowed so she couldn't tell what was raging behind them. "And we wouldn't want Mr. I-Dont-Give-A-Damn to be seen giving a damn, would we?" She flashed him a blindingly fake smile as he grimaced at her. "Besides, you're the one getting off topic." She gave him a pointed look, but made no reference.

She remembered how he'd dried her hair with a towel in the morning. It was _her_ own hair, and they didn't particularly like eachother (. . . or so they said) but he'd taken the towel gently from her and dried her hair equally gently, feeling his touch at the very depths of her senses. It was completely out of the expected but she'd been much too tired to think about it too much. Now, though, thinking about it, she felt the heat bloom on her cheeks. "You've probably jinxed us. " He looked ahead lazily. "Dad's probably going to call us soon. You have your phone?"

"Of course I have my phone, you think I'm dumb, Jackson?" But just in case, she felt across the pockets of her jeans and touched the shape of her phone with relief. As she did, her gaze fell on her wedding ring. She hadn't give thought to it in so long. Not when she used the bathroom, nor when she showered. She'd completely forgotten about it. Out of curiosity, her eyes flickered to the third finger of his left hand, and her eyebrows rose when she saw the gold band comfortably situated there, but still, a small flare of happiness lit her insides. He'd still kept it. He hadn't taken off the thing that promised her to him, even if it didn't really mean anything.

"No, you're not dumb, you're wise, oh mighty Wise Girl." She blinked at him. He blinked back at her, just as surprised.

" _Wise Girl_?" She asked incredulously. " _Wise_ Girl? Did you just—give me a nickname, or are we secretly competing to see who's worse at making cheesy nicknames?" He grinned cheekily at her, the pull of his lips too wide to be genuine.

"Of course we're secretly competing to see who could make better nicknames out of the both of us. I told you weeks ago." He deadpanned, rolling his eyes. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course I'm giving you a nickname. I now name thee _Wise Girl_." He threw his fist out in the air mockingly.

"You're kidding me, right?" She continued to eye him incredulously. "First of all, _who_ are you to me to give me a nickname? Second of all, what kind of nickname even is that? _Wise Girl? What_?"

"I'm married to you, so I'm definitely a someone." His grin broadened, happy to finally have a grasp of the situation. "And it's a perfectly suitable nickname." He shrugged. "I don't see what's wrong with it."

"You _don't see what's wrong with it_?" She seethed. "What do you mean, you don't see what's wrong with it? Why do you have to give me a nickname at all?"

"Would you prefer Dumb Girl?" He cockily raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, it gives me something else to call you. Something besides Blondie and Wifey and Chase. It's refreshing."

"Jackson—" Before she could tell him exactly how she would kill him, or curse him out for that matter, the door opened and closed behind them, and they both turned, immediately on alert. Chiron stood at the door, calmly rolling his wheelchair in, despite having been fine in the morning. Percy had driven her to what was considered Headquarters, after which Piper had cleaned up and bandaged her burn. The place itself was a tall, Victorian-style building that was increasingly large and filled with beautiful antiques and men with only suits that were made from brands. Even Chiron was suited in a sleek suit. The place reeked of money.

"Annabeth, Percy, I'm sorry for being late, I had to speak with Jason and Piper," he said pleasantly, wheeling himself behind the antique desk littered with documents in front of them. His eyes were kind. "They seem as if they're not talking with eachother again. I wonder what it is about this time," he mused quietly. "Anyway, it's nice to see you again. I understand you're here to receive your first mission?" They nodded pleasantly. "It's a shame you're spending your honeymoon here." He eyed them knowingly. "I was told by Don Poseidon that you had quite the plan set out, but they all seem a bit extra if you ask me."

Annabeth agreed wholeheartedly. Percy seemed like he did too. But they didn't get to choose of course, they were just told what to do and did it.

"Well, I'm not too sure if this news will upset you or excite you, considering the circumstances," he grinned at them. "But Leo will be attending to your first mission. We need some hacking skill to control the perimeters and hidden cameras, so Leo will be the man for the job from your division." His eyes flickered to Percy. "Capo Jackson, have you introduced Ms. Chase to the rest of your division?"

"She has met them, sir," and Percy's voice is suddenly emptied of emotion, absolutely nothing lining his voice, despite the fact that he is simply talking to Chiron, "but I have not yet informed her of their specific fields of work. I will get to that as soon as we head out."

"That is fine. As for your mission," he pushes several documents towards them. "You will infiltrate a traitor's bartering and exchange with an enemy group, and kill all of them besides one of the traitors and Titans. We've received information that it is a cargo of drugs, and we were not aware of such an exchange, thus labeling Molinguval's crew to be traitors. Kill the men and women, and leave the children alive if they are to be there. He was not sent out on mission, he is acting traitorously of his own accord. It is illegal to trade or barter with the Titans in any way, so this means immediate punishment. Bring back the cargo safely. You understand?"

"Yes, sir." Percy bows his head, voice and face still frightfully empty.

"It will take place at an annual Gala, of which we have already gotten an invitation and requested ones specifically for you two. You will dance and feast, and when the time comes, you will quietly walk the perimeters, and search the likeliest places for such an exchange. Leo will be installing several hidden cameras and tracking their locations and will inform you from his van. He will be the only reinforcements you have, as we don't think there will be too many people. You and Ms. Chase should be able to take care of it yourselves. On the documents here is all the information you need to know. Once you and Ms. Chase have memorized it, you will shred it to pieces. Are we understood?"

"Of course, sir. I understand."

"Excellent. You will be leaving in three days' time. The exchange will take place on the 9th of May. You are dismissed." He turns away from Percy and instead turns to Annabeth. "Ms. Chase, if you will give me a moment."

"Of course, sir." She nods respectfully as Percy leaves the room, steps loud and formal, and then gives Chiron her attention, information and likeliness and statistics running laps in her mind. _7th of May. Dance and feast. Kill._

"Ms. Chase, I can usually be found anywhere on this campus." His eyes are especially kind as he views Annabeth, a relief from the strict voice he had taken up just a minute ago. "As I am responsible for your personal training and efficiency, I hope you realize that you can come to me for anything, especially training, whenever you like." His voice lowers, a grin spreading across his serious face. "I do understand that you and Percy are posing for a marriage, Annabeth, so if there is anything you would like to talk to me about, feel free and do not feel the least bit uncomfortable. You can come to me whenever you like." He leaned closer still. "I especially see potential in you, Annabeth, and what you can do. I have never seen a man or woman hold themselves as you hold yourself, and it gives me hope in you. I expect you to do well. You are an intellectual, and perfect for Percy." He winked at her, and Annabeth's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I—thank you, Chiron." He nodded at her, still smiling as she returned it with a polite smile.

"That's all, Ms. Chase. You're dismissed."

* * *

" **YEAH, PIPES. YEAH, I'LL TELL JASON TO FUCK OFF.** You'll be there for a few days? Do you know how many days? I'm—talking too much?" He blinked, eyebrows raising. "Okay, give the phone to Jas— _Alright_. Okay, I got it. Don't die with that crappy attitude." He rolled his eyes and ended the call, before abruptly dialing another number. "Jason, man, what'd you do to Piper?" There was a long line of silence on the other end, until Jason whispered something. "That's—that's amazing, Jason, I hope you have a fine time in the Maldives with Piper. Try to make it up to her, yeah?" There was an agonizing voice on the other end. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Grace, Piper always comes through. Also, she told me to tell you to _fuck off_. Wait until she cools down. You remember she broke my arm the last time I pissed her off?" A choking sound. "So just, don't expect her to have your back for a while. You know she's just pissed. And besides, dude, you're _Jason,_ Piper'll forgive you soon enough." A long line of mumbling. "Yeah, she'll probably kill you. Come back alive." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Having a gun pointed at your head doesn't scare you. Being with Piper does. Grow some balls." He ended the call with a violent jab at the screen of his phone.

An amused smirk pulled at one corner of Annabeth's mouth, but her mind was mostly occupied as she stared down at the screen of her own phone. **LUKE CASTELLAN**. She'd never labeled his number with a specific name; it had always been **LUKE CASTELLAN**. And that very text box had been silent for weeks, ever since the day she'd met Percy for the first time. She smiled wryly, remembering it. She'd had a mini heart attack when he'd proposed, and for no reason at all, really. She'd thought they'd been negotiating or shit like that, not that she'd actually be proposed to. It had almost felt real. But that aside, it was strange. Luke always checked up on her, except she'd completely forgotten about him for a few weeks now, so the realization hadn't come to her until now.

She jolted as Percy smoothly plucked the phone from her hands and fixed his gaze on the screen, before he went still. " _Luke Castellan_?" His voice was slow, drawing the syllables of the name out, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was reading. She felt her insides freeze as his gaze sidled up and down the screen, growing more and more furious with every text he read. The previous prickling irritation in his expression was gone, now replaced with an increasingly dark emptiness and growing rage.

"First of all," she muttered angrily, trying to push down the guilt that had no reason to be surfacing in the first place, "I didn't give you permission to take my phone. Keep your hands to yourself." She looked at him pointedly, but he only had eyes for her phone, hand still held out. "Second of all, you say the name like you know him or something." She snatched the phone from him, leaving him with his hands still splayed out. He rounded her, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them before.

"Who is _he_ to _you_?" He was rounding on her closely, the proximity neither intimate, nor challenging. Only plain fury radiated from the suddenly freezing depths of those emerald eyes.

"What is it to you?" She stared back at him defiantly, not understanding what his sudden change in behavior meant. Was it because Luke was romantically involved with her or something? She knew it was weird to be thinking of it like that, but with the weird . . chemistry that began to shift in the air between them, she wasn't sure what to think. She could be misinterpreting the entire situation, because it was possible that the chemistry was only coming from her. She could be getting it wrong.

"Annabeth," he spat, and she decided that this sort of rage wasn't deserved for an emotion as petty as jealousy, because he never used her real name, "this isn't a fucking joke. Who is Luke to you, and why in God's name is he on your messaging list?"

"He's—my boyfriend." The words spilled from her lips much too fast for her to correct them, and if it was even possible, his eyes darkened even more, an endless pit of fury swirling in them. "I mean, obviously—he's my ex-boyfriend." She quickly amended, but the dark look in his face didn't let down.

"And when did your relationship end?" _Not when did your relationship start_? She didn't even think to not answer the question, it felt like she had to answer. It felt as if she had to answer. It felt as if he was almost entitled to question her romantic endeavors.

"When we got engaged. But—I mean, he's an ex, why should this . . . ?"

"When," he spat out, and a dangerous anger of her own began to spin in her chest. Whatever the problem was, he shouldn't be able to speak to her like this, "did your relationship _officially_ end?"

She was quiet for one beat. Two beats. Three beats. His wide eyes searched her face, neither of them daring to breathe, but Annabeth not daring to answer the question either. "Don't speak to me like that," she said finally, but there was no spite in her voice, only a deadly sort of calm. Her voice was so quiet that it was almost silent, fading into the echoing emptiness of Training Room #52. But he didn't let down enough. He stepped back, and the strong emotion in his eyes dimmed only so he could compress them, but they didn't let down or decrease in the slightest.

"I'll take that to mean that you haven't officially ended the relationship then," his lips curled into a snarl. "How clean of you, Chase. You're dating one man, and you're married to another." Without looking down, he pointed at the finger that sparkled with a ring.

"Perseus," she began formally, prim anger making her lips curl dangerously, "you're taking this the wrong way. I've personally ended all things with Luke, but I just haven't told him yet because I haven't had the time or the means. I think you're taking this to heart unnecessarily. If it appeases you, I'll tell him that I want to break up with him this very moment—"

" _If it appeases me?_ " He eyed her incredulously. "Do you think I'm petty enough to be jealous? You think I have any feelings for you to enable me to be jealous? No, Chase," he sneered down at her mercilessly. "I think it's you who's taking this to heart." Her features twisted into something beastly.

"And you misunderstand again," she hissed, leaning in closer to him. "I don't give a damn about whether you're jealous or not. That's none of my concern. But I don't understand why you have to overreact to a name in my contacts list, and you're not even attempting to make me understand what your problem is either. So forgive me if the first pitiful conclusion I come to is you being _jealous_." She threw the last word out at him to spite him.

"Just—delete him. It was your mistake for not ending any mundane relationships before coming here." His lips twisted into something more horrible than a sneer, the joking, more lively, slightly caring Percy gone and replaced with the man she'd been told he was. "Don't text him. Just delete everything that has to do with him from your phone. I don't care about your heart or mind or whatever pitiful appendage you have that holds him. Just take him out of your phone. Wipe everyone besides your family. Then I'll add my number to your phone and add the rest of the Argo's numbers in case you need to contact them, and then I can give it to Leo so he can make sure it can't be tracked and meets the expectations." He turned to go, the wretchedly rogue look in his eyes not letting down.

Before he could go though, Annabeth grabbed the collar of his shirt to keep him rooted to the spot, pulling him cruelly back to her, and he looked back at her, baring his teeth. "Luke Castellan," she said quietly, her voice serene in a way that wasn't normal, "isn't in my heart or in my head. He was a mindless distraction because I thought he was _hot_." She bared his teeth at him now, daring him to say a word. "And have some respect, Jackson," she spat. "We've managed to not tear eachother to pieces and that's all fine and good, but now I'm honestly considering breaking an arm or two. So when you talk, think before you talk." She sneered menacingly. "If you dare to leave this room before explaining to me what the fuck your problem is, I will break more than just your arms. I'll break your legs. I'm fully capable." She shoved him back, and waited, watching as the vibrantly animalistic emotion slowly drained out of his eyes, replaced only by emptiness. It was a scary sort of emptiness, an emptiness that made Annabeth want to rattle him so the previous anger could come back. She hadn't done anything wrong, she knew.

And then he looked at her with pity, alongside the emptiness. Percy never looked at her with pity, because he knew that she hated it. So seeing him looking at her with an emotion that she absolutely despised, she felt the rage pile up in her like building blocks. "You really don't know, do you? You actually, really, don't know?"

"You're really beginning to cross the line at that, Jackson. Cut your _goddamned bullshit_ and spit it out." He sidled up to her with a liquid sort of gracefulness, and she looked him back in the eye, the lack of expression and feeling unnerving her.

"Luke Castellan," he drawled softly, "is a traitor. He is the son of Hermes, the CEO of Winged Consolidated, as I'm sure you well know—" Which was why her father hadn't minded him in the first place, "and he joined the Los Angeles Mafia exactly five years ago." He drew out each syllable with slow, poisonous intent. Annabeth stared, feeling almost hopelessly empty, face draining of color. "Two years ago, he was moved around, so he joined the Sicilian Mafia, and formed a team of savages, which the Argo worked alongside. My team and I formed close relationships with him, looking up to him as an older brother or a close friend. Everyone _loved_ him." He smirked brutally. "A year ago, he grew volatile, to put it simply. He started to swerve off line when we were given missions, whether working alongside us or in solitude. Three months ago," and his voice slowed so much that Annabeth wanted to squeeze his throat, "he murdered half his team, and with the other half, murdered any other man or woman that crossed his path as he ransacked this entire place. He also stabbed me, have I mentioned?" His grin turned sardonic. "And then he left. Three months ago. It's been three months since he stabbed me, ransacked and pillaged this entire building, and left with his besties. He stole a number of things that may or may not have cost millions. He was the one person everyone trusted and has trusted for years." He paused. "So _excuse me_ if it's _really_ funny that I find him on your contacts list like it's the most casual thing in the world. Last we saw of him was with the _Titans_. Does that satisfy you?"

Annabeth stepped back, not wanting to touch Percy at all, her mind a haze, feeling as if that if she were to touch him or go anywhere near him, his words would blow her out of proportions, and worst of all, strike her as true. He smiled ruthlessly back at her and smoothly took her phone from her hands, his movements fluid.

* * *

 **"THALIA GRACE AND DREW TANAKA TOO?"** Percy sounded half surprised and half amused, his voice still sardonic and his face still dark, and when Annabeth turned to look at him passively, her face red and creased with sweat, her arms still pulled into a fighting stance, he continued on heartlessly. "Just a heads up, that's all. You acted volatile enough with Piper, we wouldn't want you fainting on us if Thalia or Drew were to show up. That reminds me," and he slaps down a pile of documents on top of a collection of knives, "I haven't briefed you on the members of the Argo."

"That's enough, Jackson," she said quietly, her heart pricking at the mention of Piper. She met his gaze, but he showed no sign of understanding, though he did go still. "And what do you mean, Thalia and Drew too? Have you been looking through my phone?" Her words were careful and graceful in a slow way, empty but for emptiness. She eyed him without feeling, and schooled her expression into something unfeeling. Because she remembered. She hadn't forgotten how sweet Luke seemed and how predatory he really was sometimes, and at rare points turning into a monster altogether. So she didn't find it unbelievable. The idea that Luke could be keeping so much from her and could be such a monstrous thing didn't shock her, because she remembered what he'd done to her a number of times. She couldn't believe she could ever have forgotten. She couldn't believe she could ever have forgiven. So she didn't bring him up, even if for the peace of her own mind.

His words were less reckless and more reserved when he next spoke, but she didn't want him thinking that she was soft. What did act as a blow was that Percy was acting more terrible than usual. "Drew Tanaka is one of Aphrodite's bastards. She's working to earn money to get out of the hole her Daddy dug for her, so she's part of another faction but mostly carries out mission by herself."

Drew Tanaka was a pole dancer. That much Annabeth knew, though she'd never judged. She'd simply admired Drew's arrogant fierceness. It was more fierce than it was arrogant.

"And Thalia, of course, is Jason's big sister." Thalia had once said she was searching for her younger brother. "She's one of Artemis's lackeys, so you could say an honorary member of the Mafia. She and her hunters come around here sometimes to rest up if they're carrying out or making deals with Chiron." He grinned soullessly at her. "I'm only telling you to save you the heartache when they show up out of nowhere. And to think I was introducing you to something entirely new when you joined. You've been associated with them for years. Drew uses seduction to kill people. Thalia uses killing to kill people, she's worse than Piper. And Luke—" He came to an abrupt stop. "It just seems like you draw alot of bad blood."

She snorted forcefully, her heart aching with every word that rained down on her. Each word was like a blow to her heart, even if she wasn't that close to Thalia and Drew, she knew they were friends, in a closely knit circle. She didn't expect their full trust, but for them to be holding almost entirely different identities—she'd seen Drew pole dancing, so she hadn't questioned her the nights Drew came to her front door all bloodied up. She'd thought she'd gotten into brawls with men, be it in bed or on the streets, so she hadn't questioned the explanation but chastised her all the same. Thalia, she'd thought had gotten involved with gangs, so she'd had several bloody visits from Thalia too. The hood in her eyes, the suspicion as she continually checked behind her. It all came together in a horrifying sort of beauty. Sometimes, she brought one or two girls with her, girls that were neat and efficient but wounded all the same, but Thalia had never answered a single question Annabeth had asked, mostly distracting her until Annabeth let it up for the day.

 _Artemis's_ lackeys. She couldn't believe it.

Then, there was Luke. There was Luke, who she didn't want to think about anymore.

"I don't feel heartache, but I think you do, Percy," and she pretended to ignore how he flinched when she let his name slip from her lips, turning back to her punching bags. "If you weren't jealous, then you were something else, and you never get that fired up over nothing." She sent him a look out of the corner of her eye. "I don't take you be possessive either," she added. "You have history with Luke and I want to hear it."

He strode towards her lithely, smoothly sliding off the boxing gloves off her hands and turned to face her, face still and unreadable, raven hair mussed in a way that made it seem all the more enticing. For some unthinkable reason, she let him, letting her hands fall to her sides as she eyed him and he eyed her back. "And I think," he said, his voice almost musical, "that you have history with Piper and I want to hear it." He looked at her carefully, before offering her a Cheshire grin. "I'll tell if you tell," he murmured, his voice soft and seductive.

"That makes no _sense_." He was so _frustrating_. "Why does my relationship with Piper matter to you?" He shrugged indifferently in response.

"Why does my relationship with Luke matter to _you_?" Annabeth sputtered indignantly.

"i—that's different, you _bastard_. Luke is my ex. I had no idea what hole he fell into until you told me. I—I deserve to know. That has nothing to do with me and Piper. Absolutely _nothing_."

"You think you're entitled to know about my relationship with Luke?" He raised an eyebrow coldly. "If Luke's your _ex_ , then Piper's one of my _best friends_. If you think you're entitled to know, then I'm sure as hell entitled to know too." His expression hardened. "But no one's _entitled_ to know anything about anyone, you know. You don't own my secrets. You don't own my relationships. You own your own secrets and I own mine, and it's my choice whether I want to give them out or not. You're not _entitled_ to know anything."

Annabeth gauged Percy carefully for a moment, letting his words blow over her and hating how reasonable they were. _She_ was supposed to be the reasonable one. And then she sat down on the cushioned floor, grabbing a water bottle from beside the punching bag, the only way she could claim defeat, because Annabeth Chase did not know how to claim defeat. It couldn't even be considered admitting defeat to her. It was more or less a compromise.

She was at comfort working out here, in the wide basement refurnished as a personal training room, as opposed to working out in headquarters. After Percy had told her about Luke, they'd driven home in tense silence, and the moment they'd reached, they'd both locked themselves up for hours, Percy in his room with his laptop (she was sure he'd checked her history and found out exactly how much she'd been looking into Mirage, she hadn't forgotten the drug and now he wouldn't either) and Annabeth down in the basement shedding more sweat than normal.

Now, it was nearly dinner time and neither of them had eaten anything since breakfast. They'd been by themselves for hours, anyway, it was only normal to finally seek out human life when the house seemed as empty as it was. Leo was out at the bar, getting himself drunk, Hazel was at home and Frank had gone out somewhere. Annabeth had knocked on Hazel's door without any reply.

"We should probably eat something," she said, in way of breaking the silence, looking up at him, annoyed, waiting for him to sit down and acquiesce. She was never this amicable. He should screenshot the moment in his mind. He stared down at her, eyes raised, before finally sitting cross-legged in front of her.

"That," he said slowly, "is the first time I have seen Annabeth Chase acknowledge defeat to _anything_."

"It's not acknowledging defeat," she admonished presumptuously. "It's sitting down to have a drink and swap stories. Don't get the wrong idea," she snapped, but without the usual bite. "So, who's going to go first?" He shook his head with wonder.

"I swear, Chase . . . you are something else." She raised an eyebrow at the wondering look on his face, the coldness slowly seeping out. "You go first." She watched him carefully, thinking the offer through. She wouldn't admit it to him, not even if she were under danger of dying, but the real reason that she had acquiesced so easily and hadn't put up a fight was because—well, she wouldn't pretend that her grudge against Piper held a large, meaningful story, and sometimes, that story was such a large burden to carry on her own shoulders. She walked the earth alone, and she always had, before Piper had jumped in and after she had left. Luke and Thalia had only walked with her for a fraction of time that was nothing in the large image of the span of her life. And Percy wasn't someone she could fully trust, but if they could switch up the loads and share the story—well, she was losing her mind doing this, she wouldn't under normal circumstances, but tonight, there was something undeniably alluring about not taking the burden on alone for once and share it. But it was a precious secret, one she had never admitted to anyone, not even her parents, not even Thalia. Percy would be the first to know, the first she would speak to about the entire incident, and she wasn't sure of what it made her think.

The problem was, she didn't entirely _mind_ telling Percy, as long as he returned the favor.

She knew he wouldn't divulge the information to anyone else. She was just nervous of whether he would return the favor, return the fragile thing that was trust. He brought his legs up to his chest and closed his arms around them, eyeing her curiously, and she was relieved to see that the hearty iciness from before was slowly but surely falling away from his face. She swallowed and focused on his gaze, letting the emerald confines anchor her. It had been long enough.

"Piper and I," she said slowly, "have known eachother for a very, very long time."

* * *

 **[a/n:]** _actually, this chapter went beyond 10,000 words, so i had to cut it short. it's a fast update! not even a week since my last one! but to be honest, it half makes up for my constantly late updates and the fact that when school starts in two weeks . . . . :) i actually had a lot of fun writing this. anyway, question!_

 _the title that i first made for this story was 'THE MAFIA'S WIFE' but i'm sure alot of you have noticed that it's a title that doesn't make much sense. the mafia is an organization, not one person. a wife is, you know, husband and wife, so it doesn't make much sense. the mafia cAnT hAvE a wife. i made it the title with the realization that it didn't make much sense, but it fit together, for some reason. and recently, i've been thinking up another, better, more meaningful title for the story but i can't seem to think of one._

 _if any of you guys have suggestions, it'd be amazing if you could tell me! be it in a review or in a PM, i'd just really love getting some suggestions. it would have to be something brutal and cruel, but still fitting into the story's plotline. i'm seriously considering changing the title, because recently, the meaninglessness to it is unnerving me, so if i think of one, i'll let you guys know to see what you think of it, and if i think any of your suggestions would be perfect for the story, i'll tell you too :)_

 _also, thoughts on the chapter?_


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